An early morning walk, I am in the sixth grade
The light is blue, with the sun reticent behing mountains
The night is thinking of dissipating, but not yet
These small moments feel formative
Small increments of time connected from then to now
Like links of a chain, each unique, yet whole
From moment to moment, I remain the same
I know this cannot be true, I am not the same
As I was in the sixth grade, walking down the gravel
Hearing the birds in the early morning chill
I feel that my consciousness is fully formed
I had a recurring nightmare growing up
A sphere that was a square, formed of pick up sticks
Hundreds at first glance, no thousands, no millions
More than all the grains of sand in the world
Each stick, each rod was unique, it had its place
Each rod had a function, each function made the shape
The shape was a sphere, but it was also a square
For in the completeness of how it should be
It was something else entirely
I did not know it then, but I know now
I was viewing my consciousness from outside of it
Why was it a nightmare then?
Viewing my own mind, its strange duality
Alien to the very shape of itself
The rods would shift constantly, moving without stop
Some would fall out of place
I would have to push them back
More would fall fall of place
I would have to push them back
Hundreds, thousands, millions
I could not keep up with the
My consciousness was broken, fractured
Parts of myself were flung outwards
They attached to strange things, odd things
I was a human, a monster, a super hero, a robot
I was none of these things
I was not formed to be what I needed to be
I was broken and not even a human then
I did not know that, not yet
My nightmare, my consciousness, moment to moment
I have learned to shape in my own way
Turning this broken thing into something almost human
And it is who I am now
I am only a chain of memory
I held him in a blue blanket
His toe nails gripped the carpet making velcro noises as he walked
And he looked down at his own paws inquisitively
His right ear flopped over
I taught him to bark
But he would have learned it anyway
Its the breed they say
I held him in a blue carry-all
His ears were still odd with one up and one down bouncing
And he looked at the snow cone anxiously
His hair stained cherry red
He was our first kid
But he did not know that
Its just a dog I think
I held him in a blue pad
His quakes were gone but he was still shaking as he laid there
And his breathing was panting
His ears folded down in stress
The doctor told me say goodbye
And I did over and over
As his body fell limp
Love is a many-splendored thing
From wit, from wisdom, to heart and string
Strung with care upon the wooden frame
Plucked, and strummed, with care untame
Wild abandon, struck to cautious fury
Unfolds, white and black, longing and worry
Patience, long only, until the next time
When in arms, and embrace, to find
The glory of many things to show love
And the fate of a future, only known above
A friend is about to commit suicide, and you must convince them not to in a lyric fashion.
I was not born, for I was forged in the heart of a star.
The atoms that comprise me were built by the hammer and the anvil
The forces of gravity, time, pressure and heat,
My atoms were struck, struck, struck for millions of years
And I was born into supernova, thrown outwards as flotsam and jetsam
Of ancient gaseous nebulae, where I coalesced into a new star
And my very being was formed out of the nuclear fires
Again and again, I was expelled by dying suns casting themselves forth
Until I was finally formed into a special star, tracking out my home
A rock of heat and motion, a home of sky, sea, and air.
A chain of events billions of years in the making
Came to a conclusion millions of years in length itself.
Which arrived to a single individual comprised of those atoms
Built within stars, long gone, a memory cast to long Time.
Standing here before you, completely unique in every way
I could be considered the most special thing in the universe
But I am not alone.
For you are the result of the same journey.
I am not alone, for you exist as well.
Do not allow your uniqueness to escape without mark
Do not allow false notice of your passing
Do not allow the light of your being to be swallowed
By the inevitable long dark until the heat death of everything
Do not follow shallow reason to the precipice
Do not accept the consequence of losing hope
Do not let such a long and miraculous journey
Of billions and billions of years end.
You are the result of the universe striving.
To throw that away.
To throw that away is more than morality can measure.
You, too, were forged.
You, too, are stronger than any circumstance.
You, too, will strive beyond this.
For you are a child of the universe.
You are a spark of the anvil.
You are life, magnificent.
You are sentience, glorious.