We are star dust compressed by millions of years,
By eons of adversity,
Molding us, pushing us,
Until we became what we are.
Though our lives are short,
We are dreamers,
Our eyes constantly drawn upward,
To our origination.
We are the creators;
We bleed through quantum time,
Sculpting our universes as we see fit.
There is no sacred or forbidden.
Little circles constantly spinning.
Fate and choice intertwined,
Captives of our freedom,
Prisons of our own design.
Lilting strings harmonically ringing,
Over gulf of time;
We are integrally conflicted,
Oppositionally aligned.
We find hope in our struggle,
Love in darkness,
Peace in weariness,
Comedy in tragedy.
We are quantum creatures.
We exist between the lines.

Do we ever exist in more than just this moment?
Or is the person of the next moment a stranger,
Created for that second, and
Annihilated for the next?
Should we worry about anything, then?
Should we even care?