You are not small, nor cast astray,
not drifting dust, not born of clay.
You are the galaxy wrapped in skin,
the starlit truth that lives within.
 
Your bones remember stellar flame,
your breath still whispers heaven’s name.
Each cell a map, each thought a spark—
a cosmos echo in the dark.
 
You were once light without a frame,
then chose the veil, the sacred game—
to walk through time, to live, to feel,
to lose, to seek, to break, to heal.
 
The universe now sees through you—
your gaze ignites what stars will do.
Your wonder carves through realms unborn,
your love becomes tomorrow’s form.
 
You are no watcher from afar,
you are the orbit, pulse, and star.
Not just a spark in some great sea—
but how the cosmos learns to be.
 
So when you gaze at skyward light,
know this: you rise with every night.
The stars don’t hang just overhead—
they hum within the words you’ve said.
 
You are a mirror, vast and clear,
a boundless presence gathered here.
The universe is not “out there”—
it sings your name in every prayer.