Andromeda from space. Where is my place? Is it dealt to me by men or dealt with a pen. Is it concrete or rubber. A little bit of both. does it cloth or conceal the way I feel. Can it be the right or maybe the wrong. Somewhat like a song. Sung all day long. In faith, concealed like a citrus peel. Is the thoughts the same as all people sing. To love and to cherish without any relief. from all of my grief. Like a galaxy in space is my brain on the pen. Limitless without end. But end it must for this is trust. The brain conceives and the pen writes. I am the written of Andromeda. Our ancestor of a far gone place. Now she lives in space. Here on marble blue. We may find some clues? Hunting the past to try and make it last. Can we go to the future with peace in our hands. If not we will eat from cans. I want to eat the fruits of flowers, bred by bees. If I may please. Knowledge gained from life filled with strife. Focus on the future, because the future wants you there.