The brightest stars swirl with undeniable gravity,
drawing us in unwittingly, until they collapse,
becoming supernovas that rock our world,
sending stellar ripples of shock and disbelief,
or eternally flashing pulsars,
like lighthouse beams sweeping the galaxy,
or even black holes, carving deep wounds in space,
dragging us spiraling into grief.
But we ordinary stars go quietly, soon fading
into forgotten remnants, specks of ash beside roaring furnaces.
Yet all are interred in the graveyard of stars—
not a space, but the passage where time dwells,
where the brightest and the darkest are equal,
for both have lived and both have died.
