In retrospect, we shouldn’t have called you our son.
The sun is a pale fire in comparison to your brilliance.
No, you are a neutron star,
densely packed dreams spinning their way to fulfillment.
I know that light gleaming brightly enough can burn,
but your flames are such a glorious way to go.
Lately, though, your glow has dimmed,
and sometimes I wonder whose light you reflect
and if there’s any of your own left.
Nowadays, you’re more of a moon,
small and wan, orbiting others,
far too afraid to be free.
But I know that someday
the universes inside your heart will burst into motion,
and as they expand,
life will once more grow behind your eyes.
You are creation
And I, simply the creator.