I live my life at night,
telling stories between moonbeams
of galaxies that never were.
“My son,” I whisper as the winds fall still
“you are proof of my existence,
that a father’s love never dies.”
Immutable as stars, we are.
Her heartbeat on my chest
our child in my arms.
Building a future made of dreams,
between our dawn and our destiny
this proof of me will never burn.