Rust and Star Dust

 

Rust and Star dust,

like a Messiah in the rain,

all mashed together,

in a mishagosh.

Twirling like a Dervish,

on a Friday afternoon.

 

The bitter pieces of iron,

corroding in the elements,

flaking and chipping in

reddish clumps as age takes

its toll on the constructs

of imagined permanency.

 

The gaseous and the rock,

Stars, floating in their way,

flickering in the deep blackness

of Space, reflecting the light

of countless Suns,

making us;

Us.

 

A preacher, crying for forgiveness,

tears streaming on red cheeks,

for his infidelity, his malfeasance,

in his self-aggrandizing, as rain falls,

dripping through the canvas of his

revival tent, hastily hoisted, by sinners.

 

All made of the same things,

all made of curious bonds of

proteins and carbon atoms,

longs stands and strings of genetic

material, all matter and never mind;

and it doesn’t matter.  

 

Rust and Star Dust,

mixed together like sugar in a

cup of coffee, while barista’s

yell names into the void,

and the void answers,

“That’s me.”

 

The nothingness and everythingness,

all of us and forever entwined in the

“Us” of us.

So, be merry, as we’re all.

All of us.