Stardust

When my body sings with pain

and suffering travels through all of my bones,

sometimes I can not see

the magic in my body.

I forget that my body

has been formed from stardust,

handcrafted from stars

once painting the sky 

and that love travels through my veins.

And no magic or love

is worthless even if 

is is not perfect.

My body is stardust

and I shall not give up

on loving it. 

It has been painted

on a canvas larger 

than anything I have ever seen.

So who am I to say

it is not a masterpiece? 

Even if I can not understand it,

there's beauty, there's worth,

in every particle of me. 
After all, I am made of stars.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Very nice upbeat work here. We do indeed come from the stars and the poet connects that truth with love. If the universe is one, that is the very definition of love, and the poem makes the excellent point that nothing that comes from love is worthless, whether it be perfect or not. This work is a nice contrast to the nihilistic and depressed poems that often appear here.