The stars aren’t so innocent;
Those surrounded in the twilight's dark
But when they all die off,
Who really witnesses their final spark?

They live in harmony, though with death –
As I stare at them following their emptiness;
If I must fall out of place, I’ll embrace that fate
Like a shooting star, taking the task with gladness;
Neither entering nor departing, a dark breath,
That quietly escapes out of my collapsed chest.

While my skin dissolves into dirt –
The very cradle of humanity’s birth;
My wet tears will burn scars upon my cheeks –
Never truly separated from things; but also,
never attaining the true meaning of peace.

                                      I’m all but a piece.