We are not made of stars.

My search for truth

is a balancing act,

one day is smooth,

the next one is cracked.

My dreams are so real

but they're missing a part,

I wake up and feel

that lost bit in my heart.

I often hear

we're made out of stars,

but knowledge my friend

will come with some scars.

The truth exists,

but not as you'd like it,

not black nor white,

not written in Sanskrit.

Love work and love play,

love pleasure and anger.

The truth, my dear friend,

is life's an adventure.