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Pimpointing My True Position Eternally

Updated on March 15, 2011


Pinpointing My True Position Eternally.





I squat,
in the bitter cold
of a waning March,
where the only warmth
around me lies in
the tip of my cigarette
freshly lit.

I draw
into my lungs
a man made rush,
then purge it with
a long sigh of white,
that curls in a cloud
of toxic gas.

I gaze
to other burning
points of light,
that hang a
trillion miles above,
Familiar night lights
that wooed me,
even as a child
they instilled wonder.

I've often
pontificated on how
many other creatures
far more bizarre then I,
orbit those
distant points
of pin prick light.

Staring with
eight eyes
or omnipotence
at my own star
distant and cold,
pondering who might
worship its warmth.

It just seems a bit
too boastful,
to think of man
as the only intelligent life,
in that vast spread
of possibilities above.

Considering that
our intellectual existence,
thrives on war,
self destruction and hate,
punctuated by peaceful periods
much like the stars.

I flick
my dying habit
in a long arc,
its orange contrail
lighting up the darkness
as it splashes
into the snow
in a flare of embers.

Then the night
grows colder
as I realize,
that unlike the stars
I am temporal,
a bit of organic matter
burning out.

Soon to be flung
into the earth's grasp,
all evidence of
warmth extinguished,
with that long
final puff of
life's sweetness.

But those stars
will burn on far above,
gently illuminating
the crater left by
my dismissal

from mankind,
perhaps guiding
my soul's journey



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