You deserve an Ode, so here I shall bode.
You are the freckles on a child,
sporadic, excessive, and just as wild;
the raging dots of acne on a teenager,
hormones and stress as the main factor;
the bullets from the bullet point to-do list of an undergrad,
and maybe sometimes the actual bullets
in a graduate who would rather eat bullets
than check off another bullet
from their bulleted to do list.
You are many. You are few.
The wrinkles of the elderly;
the cracks on a highway;
the hairs on a head;
the texture on my ceiling.
I exist secularly. I lie here alone. But you.
You are all encompassing, omniscient, and misunderstood.
Not only visible at night, as you claim,
but forever present in the eyes of a lover.
Not capable of granting wishes as they say,
but still worthy in the eyes of humans to discover.
They discover and uncover another and another-
a never-ending game of hide and seek.
And you laugh, scoff at those who feebly scramble
in search of a higher power,
when there is no power higher than the stars.