We’re both made of stars, Jory Birch. Everybody is.
How will the ships navigate
without stars? And then he remembered that the stars were
dead, long dead, and the light they shed was not to be trusted,
was false, if not an outright lie, and in any case was inadequate,
unequal to its task, which was to illuminate the evil that men did.
As you look up to see the stars,keep watching the ground with your feet.
And as I looked at the star, I realised what millions of other people have realised when looking at stars. We’re tiny. We don’t matter. We’re here for a second and then gone the next. We’re a sneeze in the life of the universe.
curling leaves and twining branches outside my bay window look like a Van Gogh in the starlight – there is a river out there somewhere
Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
What were all of them, really, but bits of something else? Bits of stars?
Men write Bibles. God doesn’t. God writes in stars and worlds and seasons and Hudson Rivers and beautiful women. Creation is the good book.
When people stargazing, they stare at stars,
and many other things which they’ve already
presumed commonly and universally as stars.
Some words were left unsaid Oh Layla, as you slept peacefully in my arms, and the stars kept on peeping into the room to glance at your smile!