Of the stars shining so quiet and bright. Hanging in the sky by strings in rapid arrangements by people too busy to hang them neatly. The constellations are just us painting pictures in the stars. Two a.m. looking up into the sky, everything quite, making stories of our art. Shooting stars happen when there is a genocide of stars in the sky. The shooting stars are just the hundred of stars dying. And meteor showers? They are the massive war against the galaxies and stars. It looks like the stars are losing, but when the shower stops; you know the stars have won the war. The stars are not much different to us. They look down upon us and observe how we act, that is why they are the same as us. Of the stars shining so quiet and bright.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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