The stars may have names
Past their prime
Living in a different time
Living in a world
Different to my own
Yet intrinsically the same
A human experience
Fabricated in existence
Of melodies and zodiacs
The constellations, the coincidences
Entropy in the skies
Awed by the distance
Between myself and theme
I feel so small and insignificant
I could cross the lands
I could cross the seas
And yet
I would not be able to cross the heavens
I follow the starlight
Until it turns lime
Until the stars turn to stone
And I can follow them on a boardwalk
All the way to the big top
And the young old gods
Who live under the big top
Of sloth and ***
Prayed to by their fans
For their conflated talents
We call them
Stars
And they are called stars for a reason
Sparkling, dazzling
Intangible, infallible
Humanity is its own sort of chaos
Its own sort of entropy
Constellations and mythologies
But not for millions
But not for millennia
But for decades
But for days
Until mortality meets immortality
Death doesn't discriminate
But immortality
Is very selective
It will elect
Only the best
Only the classics
Just like the stars
Which sprawl and scatter
Through the sublime heavens
With a meek tongue
I sing
A song
Not sung
My own
Written
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC
The stars may have names
Past their prime
Living in a different time
Living in a world
Different to my own
Yet intrinsically the same
A human experience
Fabricated in existence
Of melodies and zodiacs
The constellations, the coincidences
Entropy in the skies
Awed by the distance
Between myself and theme
I feel so small and insignificant
I could cross the lands
I could cross the seas
And yet
I would not be able to cross the heavens
I follow the starlight
Until it turns lime
Until the stars turn to stone
And I can follow them on a boardwalk
All the way to the big top
And the young old gods
Who live under the big top
Of sloth and ***
Prayed to by their fans
For their conflated talents
We call them
Stars
And they are called stars for a reason
Sparkling, dazzling
Intangible, infallible
Humanity is its own sort of chaos
Its own sort of entropy
Constellations and mythologies
But not for millions
But not for millennia
But for decades
But for days
Until mortality meets immortality
Death doesn't discriminate
But immortality
Is very selective
It will elect
Only the best
Only the classics
Just like the stars
Which sprawl and scatter
Through the sublime heavens
With a meek tongue
I sing
A song
Not sung
My own
Written
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