The northern-most point looks to the heavens,
seeking answers that will long evade.
Our spirits shine bright like the great balls of gas that we find beautiful.
Yet the star I hold is ghastly.

The point furthest east is the start of our life.
The gentle blue waves that caress our tiny feet,
as even the largest plane is merely a toy to the sea.
It fills our bodies and has since the beginning our our existence.
The sea stars litter people’s homes, yet only one is frowned upon.

The point south-east is that of the firey blaze that warms our core.
We crave its heat for food, for melting away the bitter sting of cold.
It is a life-force and brings joy on summer nights
It sparkles on the fourth, but my spark must be extinguished.

The point just to its left is the ground beneath our feet
It is the gentle crunch of gravel
and the stones we use for shelter.
Even the most jagged stone can be smoothed and crushed into glistening stars.
Still, it is more beautiful than the star I have seen for years.

The point aiming west is the source of all life
It is the gentle breeze that cools our face
on the hottest of days.
Our minds crave its presence.
As it ends, the stars grow closer.
Yet mine must be evaded.

Spirit.
Water.
Fire.
Earth.
Air.
The four and one more.
United as a single being and embraced by a ring.
They sneer and deride, not listening to my side.
My star is our life.
My star is protection.
It is not an infection.
But a perfection.