Dust

We are poor creatures slimy organs imprisoned in flesh. The sun burns us, water drowns us our lives are rough and short, we’re little more than talking dust. We all howl with angry doubts. Our art may dry and chip our science could let us down, our poets stammer and grow quiet. Humanity has always been imperfect, but some of us are trying. We see the stars, we know passion, we sing and dance and are indomitable - join us- because the best is yet to come