The little hiccups in life
should be marked by tiny tears
and brief hugs,
by blinking against
the tide of dust
we will all become.
There is a ferocity
to what you believe when you are young
that mellows into something stronger —
less hard,
less brittle,
not necessarily bendable,
but something that would need erosion,
rather than a single blow,
to get it gone.
We do not need violent explosions
to mark our every moment;
we are not such shallow stuff —
we are the stars above:
tiny points of light,
but only from your perspective.
