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.