in the endless sea of black,
only the brightest of the stars align,
and form a constellation.
those not effulgent enough
remain lone,
unseen by the curious eyes,
but they are stars as well,
they too burn into their cores to shine.
exhaust eventually into the black.
a glimpse at them,
just ghosts of what they used to be.
remnants of the light they cast
millions of years ago.
stars bereft of contellations.
YOU ARE READING
poetry for the soul
Poetryhoneyed words- dripping from a rose gold dagger, inscribed with the name of the moon's lover.
