The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

-W.Shakespeare

Friday, 14 November 2014

Cosmic Perspective

The entire universe 
can fit into our skulls.
We see through light and time.
We are 13 billion years old, 
      I’m told.
We’re as old as the star dust
in our bones.
We’re small-
smaller than the invisible things
that crawl upon our skin.
We don’t see them, 
they matter not.
Does the universe see 
the little things?
      Oh! but they must!
            They do!
the little things,
the kind acts
of miniature beings.
Do we matter not,
are we not matter?

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