We blink, and they crumble to ashes
To ashes, dust to dust.
Stars dim while planets orbit them in oblong rings
Around the rosy, pocket full of posies.
They become idols of worship,
A distant relationship between subject and object.
Which is the better half? The one who made the vow
For richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health, till death do us part.
Time fades, and the tiny pinpoints of light
In the night sky are taken for granted.
They’ve been there since before we were born.
It is only when the illumination burns supernova
And leaves a black hole in its location in space
That we are reminded that it was ever there.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen