Who am I,
a question you may ask,
how shall I respond—
an answer draped in many a mask.
In the eyes of society,
I’m a writer, a technologist,
a father, a son,
faces I’m given,
roles to be spun,
for moments of duty, for laughter, for fun
Through the journey of life,
in the gamble of probability,
I carry a beacon of hope,
through clouds heavy with dreams,
walking a path both tender and uneven,
where nothing is certain, yet all is believed in
Across the expanse of the cosmos,
within the endless arms of time,
I linger as a speck of dust—
fragile, fleeting,
insignificant in size,
and yet,
in all creation,
singular, rare, and uniquely alive