I construct and reconstruct myself every day.
I create, recreate, and sometimes I destroy.
I constantly evolve, I creatively expand,
I unconsciously transform, and I consciously rebuild.
As I breathe, walk, sleep, dream, imagine, love, caress,
I undergo both reversible and irreversible changes.
Sometimes I feel empty, numb, and gullible.
Other times I feel complete, alive, and careful.
Whatever the case, I am what I make of myself
as I write, edit and play Act II of my life.
Right now I am kind of stuck;
it could be due to writer’s block,
but this too shall pass.
I am a work in progress like the expanding universe;
even when I succumb to death, my spirit never ceases;
I become a distant star, or something else.
I am the temple of the Infinite,
an imperfect host of the Perfect.