The stars were only sparks of the fire which devoured us. Should that fire die out one day, there would be nothing left in the sky but dead stars, dead eyes.

I am thinking of one woman and the rest is blotto. I say I am thinking of her, but the truth is I am dying a stellar death. I am lying there like a sick star waiting for the light to go out. Years ago I lay on this same bed and I waited and waited to be born. Nothing happened. Except that my mother, in her Lutheran rage, threw a bucket of water over me. My mother, poor imbecile that she was, thought I was lazy. She didn't know that I had gotten caught in the stellar drift, that I was being pulverized to a black extinction out there in the farthest rim of the universe.

When the star dies, its eye closes; tired of watching, it flies back to its first bright dream.

And I will die, and you will die, and we all will die, and even the stars will fade out one after another in time.

The stars are dead. The animals will not look. We are left alone with our day, and the time is short, and History to the defeated May say Alas but cannot help nor pardon.

All we ever see of stars are their old photographs.

Our sky has lost another star,
The earth has claimed its own,
And into dread eternity A glorious one is gone. He who could give departed things
So much of light and breath, He is himself now with the past —
Gone forth from life to death.

Forget Jesus. Stars died so you could live.

What use to covet loot, when even stars must die?

"FALLEN STAR
"They could never understand
what u set out 2 do
instead they chose 2
ridicule u
when u got weak
They loved the sight
of your dimming
and flickering starlight
How could they understand what was so intricate
2 be loved by so many, so intimate
they wanted 2 c your lifeless corpse
This way u could not alter the course
of ignorance that they have set
2 make people forget
what they have done for much 2 long
2 just forget and carry on
I had loved u forever because of who u R
And now I mourn our fallen star.

Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. “Someone is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.

There may be such intelligences and such starships, but pulsars are not their signature. Instead, they are the doleful reminders that nothing lasts forever; that stars also die.

When the legends die, the dreams end; there is no more greatness.

Someday death will take us to another star.