I was a wilting flower in the meadow,
aching for revival and
enslaved by Time’s cruel hands;
dreaming of piercing sunlight
and in desperate need of rain
on the wasteland I call my soul
You were the sun in my solar system,
lighting the way
and awakened within me
a type of rebirth;
two asteroids colliding,
forming life out of death
To think the dust of stars
and atoms converging
made my essence.
I question if the asteroids in my head
can collide and create life
like the spectacle of space,
but replicated within me
And while I want to believe
there is hope, joy, and possibility in creation
are we not the
stuff dreams and stars are made of?
Yet, everything
that has existed failed the test of time
I was a wilting flower in the meadow;
while I can hope for the newness
to be created within me from you,
I wonder whether–
like all creation–
there is beauty
in the deaths of life