wish upon a burning ball of fire:

a dying beauty.

or perhaps the first one in the sky:

the earliest bird, the oldest flame.

millions of miles mold our minds

as we watch our universe fall apart:

wish upon the irony.

-

and its only fifteen minutes of fame

shoots through the dark night sky:

a billion years in the making

takes seconds, in our eyes, to die.

-

Billions in the night, bright:

A million more satellites

And our houses steal their limelight

Artificial beauty is still beauty, right?

-

centuries in the making, die within a decade

but bright enough to take over the blackness.

overshadowed by temporary impostors:

What fools these mortals be, to ignore true beauty.

-

We are the truest of the true, dying for what we do.

Pain comes at no expense, as we burn infinite.

Lighting up a broken world

Falling, failing fast.

Wish upon this star.