Ode to Love and the Infinite

I'm not all drunken vehemence and stoical irony, sometimes I'm impassioned with lofty ideals of love.

You are made of the stars;

they are formed of you:

a million, tiny, bright white flashes

of brilliance, each

like the touch of God-

something so unknown to the minds

of mortal man-

a mystery, primal and archaic

as love itself;

you are made of all these things, and,

they are made of you.

Reach a hand out

into the empty sky surrounding

and know that, in all its vastness,

it is really not so empty at all,

because you breathe

and so fill the world

with joy.

Joy and sadness, both,

for these are things that make the world,

and the world was made for you.