Ballad Of The Dust Mote Poem by Tanathica

It was a night like many more
So dark and quite and chill
That were to come or came before
Of almost endless still

A bare expanse expanded out
Of grass: green, sharp and short
A place that no one knew about
A nihilists cohort

In numberless blades the insects advance
under billions of specks of refuse
And soon the wind began to dance
To set the dust motes loose

Each acre of dark, each point in the air
Each thread in the blanket of life
Was writhing in the void they share
To the tune of the piper of strife

Out of the billion now one of them drifts
A different route to the rest
For the wind is capricious, and the mote that it lifts
Is neither the worst nor the best

And hither it darts and thither it's flight
Entertains an erratic advance
But then spewing forth from lands out-of-sight
A straight gust of wind like a lance

It's helical segments, each fast dying burst
Propel it through miles of black
And forward and forward and final and first
And forward and forward and back

And there's the blue glare of a downtown diner
Then the silent hulk of an ocean liner
A dogged jogger, runs further and further
Past the desperate thrash of a backstreet murder

To stillness it drifts on a throne of its brethren
A mound slightly settled, still shy of the heavens
To grains and to atoms in dissociation!
And to those that I bind in confused contemplation