All bodies in this nebula
Are my broken pieces.

Once, we were a big fixed star,
Flaring like the Sun, no less.

Are these numerous scars,
The interstellar emptiness.

They, from the farthest far,
Delude we are the cloud of beautifulness.

The pulses in each pieces are
The orchestra of faintest.

To reform is a war.
To lastly rest is debated.

The persistent music in the charred
Solitary universe slowly navigates.

Tiny masses of the protostar
Gravitate in the nearly darkest darkness.


# Don’t give up.
Daily prompt: Struggle + Rebuild


2 thoughts on “Restar

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