Sea of Stars by Sam Howell

I look up to the sky and

no one stares back. Only

harsh stars glaring, burning

like fluorescent lights. It’s

the confidence of millennia

backing up those arrogant smiles.

We have so little time to glow,

to be seen from galaxies away.

No time to stand out among

endless seas of rolling purple.

So, what to do with this century?

How to burn like the Sun?

How to make this moment matter

before imploding to leave no trace?

To blink is to become dust,

to wink out of existence.

The stars won’t dull with the weight

of their grief when I disappear.

They just carry on with the assurance

of tomorrow, for it is a given to those

timeless beings who know

they have centuries left to burn.

All I have is the hope that

someone may carry my flame.

But my torch will burn out until

all that is left is charred memory:

Ashes of yesterday,

embers for tomorrow.

But even embers

can be stamped out.

The stars won’t end.

Some explode, others

fade into obscurity. Yet they

all leave something behind.

When I am gone, only

my shadow will remain.