Observe my fate, next fall into your dreams
Then say your worst, or have I none at all
My soul like me, not worthy of a name
Man is his own star and a soul that can be.
The matter at hand requires much thought
Creating worlds and universes to accommodate mine
The spectrum of my mind, the vastness of my soul
Given to a static block shape of matter. Concern.
The canvas of our lives, the pressure to fill
That every surface be covered, with splashes of our youth
The dull brightness of ignorant bliss, unfurls
A child spreads but patches upon the blank surface.
With fire and ice, firm and gentle, bold and soft
We paint our teens and adolescence, cause yes we can
Some are vibrant, others are dull, youthful still
Each and everyone, we paint our own mess.
Until we’re out of colour, till the pencil has all but gone
The last vestiges of power to add the perfect touch
That what was once plain becomes a masterpiece
Man is his own star and this soul will definitely be.