Born in fire from powdered stones, A fragile sheet from Gaia's bones. Smooth of surface, rather hard - will cut deep with a broken shard. This stuff sounds difficult to view: you don't look at it, you look through.

I am born of mountains, yet I am no stone. Too many to number, yet each of me is nearly none. I shift without breath, travel without legs, and though I lie silent, I can drown an entire city. What am I?

I am one part of a massive army, Though to some viewers, they can see only me

A loss that's unfair, A road to nowhere, A grave without care, If hope is light then I am smog in the air, My name is

I make a meal of death and decay I’ll be the clouds on earth’s final day.I thrive in the darkness, the damp and neglected. But if you like to party, I might be selected My children and I, all interconnected