A multitude of complex answers

To my simplest of questions:

You are stars,

Infinitesimal, irrefutable, unquestionable.

Beams penetrating through my cosmos

Of make-believe; when you

Soar in, you cut the truth in two,

Making right what is the desire of you.

At the very edge of my subconscious,

Lingering at the drop of attention,

There you collect, hide, and hover-

Just out of sight

And the congregation at the corner

Of my vision is sneaking.

Brilliance in every destructive right:

You are stars,

The real authors of my hand,

And that foreboding essence

Of the stardust-echo I am,

At once red dwarf,

And now supernova;

Black form, claim your lie in the night;

White ghost rise from your conflict

Into the dashing constellations

Of hope. For you are all stars:

All my creatures, my youth

And my old age in one, played time

And over the supposition

Like a carved lucky three.

There you are: light beams,

Strands of people, living characters

Whose universe is

Packed and tucked and climbed

Into and around my mind;

The frantic rush of trying to exist,

When you are bright and buoyant here.

The End

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