How odd is it that we draw hope
from celestial creations falling to their death?
As we wish upon the shooting star,
it breathes its last breath and shines its last light,
and collapses into extinction, save the fading trail
etched into the night sky.

Yet as we too fall further from the orbit of life
into the space of death, will we too burn.
Then at least we will have drawn another line
in a constellation far too grand for us to see.

And when I have finally returned to cosmic dust,
and begun my journey of falling once again,
then I pray that even in death, I may be
a sliver of descending hope, illuminating
the unknowable skies.