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Whose story is this, I wonder This surge rises within me, driving me forward By chance, I am swayed into a narrative When things are placed upon a pitch-black canvas People, in their sorrow, find meaning Caught up in someone else’s tale Unable to bear the fear and loneliness of not knowing who they are No matter how many beautiful stars I gather My own constellation never appears No matter how I sort the breathtaking constellations I cannot grasp the meaning behind their brilliance Let us turn our gaze to the shapes of things forgotten, buried in time Let us listen to the voiceless cries of what has been cast aside For perhaps, one of these fallen grains might become my star And a new constellation will rise in the sky