Derived from dust, Grandmother Nebula.

Your children can hear you.

We see your form twist and churn.

How is it your simple form of dust brings birth to the bright and dark and neutral.

We rise from you grandmother,

We rise from your glittering waves.

The static strives:

To move

To breath

To taste

To feel

To see

To hear

To observe your vast expanse in this dark void.

Tumbling thunder of rock that shatter into a billion, form you.

And yet the rocks that thunder are born from you.

Don’t weep grandmother we will remember you.

For the bodies we control will soon touch you.

That matter of creation that echoes throughout sending a rippling wave of life that expands the void.

Our omnipresent soul of the universe.