I Write Poetry

Stardust

Cold space across the black,
Devoid of purpose one would assume,
This place of birth for you and I,
Our distant cosmic womb.

Chaos wrapped in icy froth,
Floating in ancient mist.
Bent and warped swaying still,
Until the spark is kissed.

The web is wide to hide the print,
Of the thing called conscious life.
The light that yet surrounds us all,
Amidst our macro strife.

The bond we share is ribbon thin,
Yet a bond we cannot break.
Only seen by those who choose,
To live their life awake.

Patrick