It’s written in the stars

By the hand that’s beyond kin.

The birth; the death; the scars

acquired for circular dream.

 

The name is given – sacred life,

It’s vibrant, giddy, rude and strife.

A spec of dust. That’s all there is,

It’s running hopeful till it cease.

It’s rolling, roaring, chasing time,

Thoughts matter not -it is divine.

 

It comes from nothing,

Joining visions with a red suture.

Molding dust into something;

The unstoppable tide of the future.