the stroke of a brush on a canvas, i am but a blip on a dot in a universe

i am a blip on this earth 

while gaia is a dot in this universe 

floating, gliding, soaring, 

to eventually be gone. 

circling around helios with the tiny luna, 

our friend with us always 

until she isn't/won't be

passing along her would be/could be friends, 

with mars so close, 

while pluto's so far

who she might reach, 

who she might not, 

we don't know 

while the stars zoom by so

absentmindedly, apart and together,

individually and universally

until the heat becomes so much, 

too much, 

and then everything in this universe, 

and all the other universes

the ones that i know of, and ones, 

tiny, but not insignificant, 

me knows not

will eventually be gone, 

different yet again 

from their one of many forms

matter is neither created or destroyed

only changed

wonder how the others 

will exist 

after our matter is changed

after we as we know it, are gone

while this continuous clusterfuck called creation and life and death and sentience

continues

creating and destroying and remaking 

so it goes, 

and goes, 

and goes on forever 

until it doesn't 

i, a stroke on the painting, 

wish for a lot of things 

i, a combination of particles, 

hope for a lot of things 

but what is a blip on a dot 

in a canvas across universes 

that will be ripped apart by the hands of time? 

the mark of this pen that was once dust 

will become dust again

i hope this brush 

can make a nice color