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from dust to dust
how of chemicals do solids form?
an ink-less pen still leaves scratches,
silent words can carry more weight
than a scream in the nighttime but
how?
sometimes
there exists only the collection of water droplets hanging above
(which minds will find any way to fathom into some entity,)
crying out to be freed—
but in freedom they are lost forever to the earth,
until they are finally bound by the cold
and fashioned into some form or another
only to begin the cycle again
why is it so impossible to let string be?
the hand maneuvers it in any way possible:
twisting and turning and twisting and turning
until its previous form to it becomes
like monkey is to man
(though it becomes far more pleasing to gaze at with each knot)
mountains in all their glory can be altered,
the gentlest of the substances is also the mightiest,
a fall into an earthly scar would yield a quicker death
than one into the waters;
the power to unite and the power to divide,
to push and to pull,
to expand and to contract;
stones and water together make a deadly poison
but only if one lets them.
so perhaps it is impossible to preserve sparks,
to ingrain them into permanence,
but if there is a way it must be
to turn them into black strokes.
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I was inspired by the stress of junior year to write this poem about impermanence. I needed to remember that nothing lasts forever.