Icy clusters of rocks and dust, leftovers
Of extra matter scattered around a star.
Following the orbit guiding a perpetual run,
For seeing creatures to gaze at midnight skies
In search of glistening shooting lights.

Comets, so named by the ancient man,
Enchant humans to strive and understand,
Beholding their subliming approach to the Sun,
Where radiations and winds melt solids to sparkle
Spews of gas. An aura, a coma and a tail.

Nebulosity inclosing the nucleus confers
On the object a misty glow, distinguishing it
Form a star, hiding water in volatile form.
Tails extending to astronomical units lose
Trails of debris at times, visible to the naked eye.

When finally orbital highways cross,
Meteor showers arise. Debris igniting
As falling stars, enter the atmosphere.
Perseids in August begot by Swift-Tuttle
Comet, Orionids in October by Halley's.

Games of splendour to remind us where
We come from and how it all began.
When antediluvian comets did not shy away
From colliding unswervingly with Earth,
Reach its crust. Inundating the planet with H2O,

For us to be here, witness the show.

Paper soldiers defend a dissipating symbol
Reality is inclosing in with every little quake
Some take cyanide, others head for a pistol
Their sins any retribution can't unmake

Your memory melts over my mind. Trapping it. It starts in casing my body like warm, sticky Amber. Preserving you for a lifetime. Suffocating me in a hateful bliss. I am stuck, wanting more of you. A mosquito drinks blood to survive. I want to drink all of you. I do not fear the Amber dripping into every pore. I do not try to run from it. Alike to a dying rose, I am happy dying, I know how the sun feels, the warmth on my petals, and the praise it has sung to me. It gave me what I needed to grow. For I cannot be mad at the sun for leaving. It did all it could do. Even as a lie here, decomposing. Worms creating holes in my thorny heart, I can die happily. For  I know how the sun feels. I knew the dangers it brought. I knew if I flew too close to the sun, like a balloon cut loose. I would be more than just burnt. I would be scolded. Blisters of “what ifs” and “whys” covering my skin like a bad tattoo. I am to believe it is the most pain that could be felt, but yet I do not cry out in pain. I only cry out in longing. I knew the sun would set one day, and I knew it would never rise again. I lay in my own dug grave, I shiver. The dirt is ice cold without the sun. I grasp a single rose in my icy hands. Thorns cutting them, but I do not let go. I do not want to let go, even if it makes them bleed. The blood slowly trickling down, will only remind me of the warmth once felt. A feeling that I never want to forget. I look up at the stars dancing. Dirt inclosing on me. Burying me alive. Even as I suffocate, memories dance in front of my eyes, just like the stars. I cannot help but smile. For you were the one wielding the shovel.