Light strikes the windshield of a passing car,
lasering my unprotected eyes,
an after-image forming like a star
we see millennia after it dies.
Are we god’s thoughts reflected like the star,
or are we orphans under empty skies,
like dying fireflies inside a jar
reflecting nothing more than light and lies?
Or can there be a pattern we don’t see—
does something watch us and decide our fate;
do we each choose the future that will be,
but recognize our power far too late?
How easy it would be to abdicate
and blame a higher power for our fate.