Supernova Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

Gold is pollen
from the giant flowers
of supernovas
and like iron
is in all of us.

If we are made from gold,
how then do we grow old?
should not our faces glow
still with the apple skin
flush from the first kiss
to last stumbling sin?

Youth is golden and sure
to outlive the rock, the cliff,
the cathedral's lead lined spout
yet unsure about how long
anything should last.

Until a fiery star crosses
fast that black mapped sky
and inbetween the oohs and aahs,
excited shout
might there be the first tingling
you're not a permanent thing