Is a horizon ever uneven, I ask?
Is a perfect wood floor free to fall?
Is a hope, a dream, a wish
The same old night sky different
Just viewed differently by all?

I ask the stars, I asked the moon
I'd ask the sun but it just beams
And smiles knowingly in stubbornness
Having viewed all such horizontal scenes
As completed unique

No sunset was ever meant to be, it just was