Close, distant, non-existent.
Millions simply swept away,
For an inquiry that may never be revealed.
Cosmic dust, questioning.
Billions of tiny, weary, wave lengths,
Tossed asunder from a miniscule blue spec.
Barely vapors biding their time.
Measured by rotations and shadows,
Of objects almost completely unknown.
Do we all suffer because of divine sovereignty?
Or just the universe methodically grinding dust to dust.
