Sometimes I like to pick up random notebooks, lying around my desk (there are several) and crack open the pages like looking in a dusty box in the attic. No reference to when or where it was last filled and sealed. Sometimes I find pieces of myself that had scribbled themselves on pages. Once out of my brain, I forgot about them. Sometimes I recognize that girl, shining on the page. Sometimes I long to be her. Sometimes, I am sad for her. Here’s a relic from a random ‘box’. (I should really put dates on these things)

Celestial

Oh, the lengths of letting go
I've undergone
This sun rises and sets and entire worlds
are made and destroyed
stars I once thought I revolved around,
sure that chaos would run the darkness if ever
I left their orbit
sputter and fade into nothing

Because the power of a world is 
the power that I give it
The fire of a sun 
springs from My well
The light in the dark is borne in 
My heart
It did not exist before me
It will die without me
and so it goes
ever in the throes of change

So I'm not breathing life 
into any more poisonous coals
they can suffer and wane 
in the cold of my celestial shadow
in the passing of their time
and the Rebirth of mine

they will revolve around Me
as I am the center
they are just cold rocks,
caught in my gravity
I care not, I notice not
if they stick around 
or become lost and distant sedimentary trash
pulled away from me 
by their own faulted inertia

I continue on
always