Burning in the ether,
blind wild eyes, made of glass;
they feel no pain.
Hunger no longer hurts,
isolation is pretty.
The lonely star is grateful of wonder and awe.
Burning alone like a mad queen that no longer wants anything.
Would a companion make thee blind?
The shrine of sacred geometry, fluid in the lungs.
Air is sullen, ashes in space regather their strength to fight again.
“One more time!” They say. Our time has come and gone,
and the ashes gather for one more fight.
What’s the matter?
One atom in space is lonely, two make a pair.
A star is no less than one, it’s nearest neighbor light years away.
Yet the frequency can not be heard by ears on earth,
all the stars are talking, no one here listens.
It’s a private conversation between the stars,
about the great joke.
If you look up you can see them laughing at men’s struggle,
for men know nothing of eternity.