Born in fire from powdered stones, A fragile sheet from Gaia's bones. Smooth of surface, rather hard - will cut deep with a broken shard. This stuff sounds difficult to view: you don't look at it, you look through.

I speak for many but I only have one voice I’m chosen by strangers. I lead without moving What am I?

Unsurprising in an orphan, but tragic in a bride Those who say they’ve never known me are only those who lie. I thrive by myself, but may not shrink in crowds thronging. The death of this yearning belongs to belonging

I am one part of a massive army, Though to some viewers, they can see only me

If I have a bee in my hand, what is in my eye?