A Stellar Flare of Young Adult Writing and Visual Art
As I recline on pillow slip softly
Or stir in stillness of a new day’s morn,
I contemplate my lack of ipseity,
Like a fatherless Christ I am forlorn.
Even a breath knows it is meant to fade
Yet I am unsure, what is my way? Which
Gusts not long enough to leave stone engraved,
And like the wind’s direction tends to switch.
Surely I should reflect on my beliefs
Or evaluate my own worn actions,
But hypocrisy allows no relief.
Perhaps, I will only become ashes,
Meant to scatter and blow over the earth.
I only pray to know my name henceforth.
Theo is a lover of art.