Oblivious, we stare into the studded abyss fragment fractals,
Blinded by death and mesmerized by pleasure.
Some yearn to see their glow, but fashion veil their sight of
Nova while some train in dogmatic persuasion to be holy
Soldiers.
We stare at “Starry Night” and praise the artist, unable to
Picture we are Van Gogh…
Each breath a stroke of the brush.