Starstuff: Existentialism Part I

The universe is expanding.

The universe is painted in vast shades of
black, white, and nebula.

The universe is insane.

The universe will explode.

Each day, the distance grows:

between innerspace and outerspace;

between Milky Way and Andromeda;

between the Sun and Earth;

between my head and my hand;

between the pen and the paper;

and every day my heart
is removed from its socket
by one more molecule.

Someone told me they don't know who they are
anymore ... but that's the easy part

We are all starstuff
(also painted in vast shades of black, white, nebula)

and we maneuver ourselves by any means to that end

the question is not who we are,

(it remains baldly rhetorical)

the question becomes: what shall we
do with our starstuff
before we give it back to the
universe ...

the question becomes:
will you have lived
your life to the best
of your abilities ...

the question becomes: what
one thing do you want before you leave ...



The universe will explode.
The universe will spit on you and call you a coward
The universe will paint you ...

I woke up this morning
missing another molecule.
I could feel the lack of it
like the ghost limb of an amputee

The universe is expanding
and it's taking our hearts with it.

And all the superglue in the world
won't keep our starstuff
together.

Starstuff by Michael W. Hyde is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Predawn: Existentialism Part II

Predawn, though I’m rarely up,

is one of my favorite times.

Maybe it’s the anticipatory energy

that wraps itself around my head like

a hot towel,

bleeding into my

thoughts. The blaze

of dawn will come

at any moment,

but waits patiently while

I encompass the verdant

silence of the

city.



It’s far better for

meditation and

rumination than classical music

Always better than TV.

Even sometimes

better than the internet.

(Though, let’s be honest here:

the internet

is a blanket of nervous

energy in itself,

and we all of us know

of its effects on our psyches.)



But I digress, sitting outside

with a cigarette

and the silence,

and contemplate

the Moon.

The stars have already

gone home,

and the sky is lonely

before the sun streaks into full autonomy.



A horizon

in blue hues and

morning dews. Just another

drop in the bucket …

Just another day. Just another

quiet moment

between

myself, and

existentialism.

Predawn by Michael W. Hyde is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.