The stuff of stars is what she says we’re made of,
Wildly burning out into the nothing behind warming halos.
Waves of ink staining heaven above wrap around them,
They blaze on in resistance.
Never faltering.
Even though they are but a Dot waging war against an endless sea,
Each wails its personal music into the beyond to remind us that we are not alone,
And some of us are even Angela’s.
To Ink - a blog from Melting Neurons 