In my own nebula,
clouds of gas and dust,
throughout the cosmos of the world.
Floating in my constellation,
in my own black holes.
In my pupils, I hold a universe,
my soul a reflection of a world,
a world small and wondrous.

Among the nebulas of stars,
between my death and my rebirth,
nebulas of the heart.
Soul of nebula.
Only magic dust,
a microcosm,
my world is beautiful.

As beautiful as dust,
dust of stars, of suns,
floating for a moment far away.
Far from my withered body,
my soul reborn, reflecting my chaos.
A world where all is giant,
a chaos where all is minuscule.

A world of my own with rivers of tears,
where I weep stars in my brown eyes.
Among black holes, among constellations,
among my specters, among my clusters,
creating reflections of my own world.

Floating far from my limitations,
seeking the beauty in all,
among the nebulas of the soul,
within the gaze of my God.

Dreaming of the macro chaos,
between my micro chaos, among all,
flying beyond limitations.
In the sideral space of my soul, in my being,
I will enclose that world within a poem,
letting it lift me above the ground.

Let it lift me amidst the dust of life,
I will fly for a moment to distant galaxies,
transforming my stardust into alchemy.
It will turn the reflections of all magic
into a small poem of my universe,
as I dream of conquering limits,
and swimming untethered in the universe.
I will create a poem for you, friend,
a poem of celestial love.

----