The God of the Small Things

The children called it the God of the Small Things,
who brings forth the world not by the grandiose machinations of some higher intellect,
but instead by the tenacity to simply dream of a fire that will always be alight, 
searing the night away, 
warming your flesh until long after it is bled dry, crumbled into cosmic sand, radiated, pulverized, and split into a million dancing electrons,
who don’t dance for any single reason,
but always will remember…

They called his domain the Kingdom of the Small Things,
the foolish things that made you cry and that you can look back on now and shake your head at, 
their corpses hanging like piñatas at a birthday party that has long since died down, 
who burst to remind you about what you were when you were young,
and how all the atoms that you were back then have been released into the infiniteness of this world, 
and travel on lonely gusts across time and oceans,
but will always remember..;

They said that his word was the Gospel of the Small Things,
a sentimentality some believed to be devoid of all reason, 
as if those dancing electrons were supposed to really be rational beings, 
who don’t dance unless its on MTV and want to expand their clothing lines into Southeast Asia,
and not because they are in love,
like the way you used to love the small things,
and loved them in a small language, constructed by small people with small words,
for fear that their irrationally big love would destroy us all and leave behind only a hollow, electric echo,
that pulsed alone in dark space,
but will always remember…


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