Dust settles everywhere I cannot see,
over the years as the night sky grows darker.
I rose from the dust once before,
yet I am not immune to collapsing into dust again.
Stardust whirls around
in the expanse of the universe,
both beyond my imagination
and the darkest side of me.
Dust covers my entire body
over the years as I’ve grown weary of rage,
thirsty from lack of water from the fountains
of my youth that used to shower me with abundance
of time, vitality, and space.
Am I wiser or more foolish for this?
Life is brittle and fragile.
It will transform back into dust
and I, a helpless body with no bones
to help it stand, no more bleeding,
erratically beating heart to spill.
But I keep on living and tell myself
not to worry because the inevitable
will happen — eventually.
All I ever want to do is enjoy my life,
before I sink into the ground
and see my life flash before my eyes
because I know how heartbreaking it is
to postpone everything for a century later
without the promise of a century.