#1
We spout words wastefully
indulging in our apparent
gifts, in our unique appearance.
When in reality it is apparent,
that we are of little consequence.
One death here, calamity. One sun
shatters
over there and perhaps a billion
or p'raps a trillion lives
are stamped out as if some
cruel thug is battering the
orange red spark out of
his filthy cigarette, with his
horrid smutty weathered
leather heel.

When a star dies, it enforces
the truth. The truth that we,
on the whole, are of little consequence.
Collapsing star stuff bruising itself
back into the singular point
from whence it likely came.
Coming down upon itself
like the drunken fool
bearing down, on his lonesome
gawdy wife, with fists not of alcoholic rage,
but utter and total helplessness.
These are the fists of knowing,
knowing that he is but a spec, a blip, no.
He is nothing.

He will be nothing when the cosmos comes calling,
to claim his ugly soul.
#2
This is a really, really good basis. The 1st stanza is great but the second one is pretty lukewarm. Has its good moments, "back to the singular point from whence it likely came", but at some points it sounds almost like a lecture. Analytical, detatched, "that we, on the whole, are of little consequence".

I see the point you're trying to get across, but I think you need to use almost metaphysical language from the point of view of a God, or do it passionately from the point of view of a normal, everytday human being who realises that he is nothing.