The Death of Stars
Stars have died in my time.
I have outlived more than my share of light
And still the sky explodes and shatters,
Tiny glass lights blown to heaps,
But another star stands by, ready to fling
Down its hands to the ground
And burn its quiet, unknown death
Against snow or perhaps inside slick icicle cones.
They call it dead but winter sings tinkling bells,
And in me it brings out some sort of…calm?
No, that’s not quite it.
My skin hums and tickles between my lungs, that
Strange and solemn place I can’t imagine breaching.
Yes, it’s there.
I have outlived more than my share of light
And still the sky explodes and shatters,
Tiny glass lights blown to heaps,
But another star stands by, ready to fling
Down its hands to the ground
And burn its quiet, unknown death
Against snow or perhaps inside slick icicle cones.
They call it dead but winter sings tinkling bells,
And in me it brings out some sort of…calm?
No, that’s not quite it.
My skin hums and tickles between my lungs, that
Strange and solemn place I can’t imagine breaching.
Yes, it’s there.