n. Lasting for a very short time
I once came across a thought
That flitted over the terrain I have tread;
That whispers to me secretively
As would a spirit of the deep,
That every atom in my body was born in a Big Bang
(Which is essentially an adjective followed by a noun)
And I am old.
As old as you, or Voltaire, or the prehistoric dinosaur,
Which is as old as the Universe.
I am and you are and she is and they are
As aged as the stars afar,
As young as the dandelions on this grass,
As incomprehensible as dark matter,
As simple as an Amoeba,
As vivacious as the wind,
As sure as the tide,
Because I am of the same stuff, right?
I forget, that I am singular.
The permutation of this matter in me
Is as atypical as every snowflake
On every iceberg on the sea.
Broken bits of me might match others.
But whole, I am unique.
The strains and chords of my thoughts
These words gushing spasmodically
Or the Universe.
Having the same structural atoms,
doesn’t make me less different.
My congruence is highlighted with bursts of divergence.
I’m a walking contradiction, utterly unique.
Just like you.
(A/N: I named this post ‘ephemeral’ in a moment of inspired irony. We are the matter of the Universe, but in comparison to it, are our lives not merely ephemeral?)