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.