We are made of stars
Aches and pains, mimics and strains.
Fall from the sky.
The colours live, and then they die.
May I choose life, or may I choose death?
Neither I, nor you are blessed.
But, go ahead, swallow, take your last breathe.
Time is just a limit with no means to an end.
The stars, a sacred guide, our honour that no subconscious hides.
If we formulate a track, we’ll never look back.
We’ll go on and on again, with various ruptures, movements and structures.
Lessons to be learnt, until we’ve earnt, until we’ve burnt.
In every seed that grows, is just another capsule of what we used to know.
Fate may be the trick, but those dark memories stick.
Unyielding to let go, the mind is like snow.
But, you look different in the rain,
transparent, closer to my veins.
Perhaps time is telepathy with no hands on the clock,
we tempered and trespassed amongst thoughts we were taught.
I’m a female with no fertile soils, but let my heart sing in the sea with no vacuous animosity.
And as you fall into the bowels of the earth,
I’ll reach for that virile star and become the saviour,
another part of who you once were, another part of the crossing and the blur.
But we won’t disintegrate into nothing,
No, my friend we are not a crumble nor a fragment or a speckle in the sand.
We are part of one, as we formulate a circle, we hold onto God’s hand.
We build a pillar,
we build a quest,
a demeanour until we’ve figured out the rest.
Time is without limit until you’ve passed the infinite test.
Painting and Poem by Lindsay Ullmann – Copyright © Lindsay Ullmann 2021 All rights reserved