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Recycled Stardust (Free verse) by Quarton

Time flows unimpeded through the vastness of space, precursor of awareness and meaning in an ever expanding continuum; like flower petals unfolding, probing in search of the light that sustains all life: rose and thorn--saint or sinner. Tiny craters formed by raindrops dance across the water's surface, rippling outward from the center, a microcosm of the universe expanding in creation's renewal. Seeded by exploding stars creating recycled stardust, scattered like wind blown pollen on currents of random destination. Over time, stardust merges in increasing order and complexity, from darkness to light-- oblivion to self-realization, creation's emergence played out on earth's temporal stage; the universe embodied and aware. Superstrings a cosmic symphony vibrating in infinite repertoire, emerging pointless particles in a nine dimensional space, like tiny loops of string curled up in a ball. Bizarre concepts beyond reason, when reality becomes fantasy and perhaps returns back to reality once again, unsure of what is real and what is illusion. A child grows old and dies, stars are born and transform into supernovae or dwarfs, as from order to chaos the second law pervades. Time passes in accord with entropy, robbing the universe of self, cosmic anarchy the result-- a closed system inevitable. In the blackness of space, shining and vibrant, the earth in shades of green and blue. Verdant and teeming with life, a reversal of entrophy as order and complexity increase, open-ended and unimpeded in the long journey from oblivion to the recognition of shared essence-- stardust magically transformed into you and into me.

god'swife 2-Jul-04/7:23 PM
Yes well... I mean it became apparent to me quite some time ago I wasn't going to be winning the Miss Congeniality prize this year, but that's neither here nor there when it comes to writing poetry. You're not very good at it, and that's just the cold-hearted facts. Hey, but it's a free fucking country here in Poemrankia, so you just go on hanging round the other talentless citizens, blowing smoke up each others asses. Enjoy your monkey's tea party, and tottle off to sleep each night with a self-satisfied grin all over your clueless mug. Sweet dreams.




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