Stars may not be faulted, do not be insulted
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings
Individuals are fully accountable for their own shortcomings 
Incidents of crying, we are all dying

Merely molecules and ashes
How many badges on one of these sashes?
Mercury may bring good luck, astrology says
Will that prevent the hitting of a bus?

Combust, alas, is it true?
Water, fire, air and earth
Is it destined at birth?

Through gold, frankincense and myrrh 
Shall you be king? Perhaps, is your nature divine? We’ll all die, that’s no lie
Are we who we were always destined to be?
Is our planet orientation a correlation to our final destination?
Myths persist, converse curse
Is it better to be of knowledge or worse?

(This is one of my poems featured in the Long Road students creative arts blog called 'The Pulse')