Stars

Deep in the inky vastness of the cold
of dark space, far from others, burns fire
that sends a power into the wild black,
a power which shines forth exquisite love
despite the star's sharp internal hunger
for the love of others, for their clear light.

Even in the dark of night, there is light,
though the stars give no heat for they are cold.
Starlight does not satisfy most hunger
because you cannot cook with their fire,
yet starlight satiates many in love
by the contrast of day's bright and night's black.

There is nothing more beautiful than black
of night scintillating with shining light
of fixed and wandering planets of love,
strife, and luck, maneuvering through the cold
as they burn with exotic hot fire
which has unsatisfiable hunger.

A star is overtaken by hunger
and becomes singular, a hole of black
which consumes all light, heat, sound, and fire.
You may see it by a nimbus of light,
bullet-hole dimple within metal cold,
like betrayal or desertion of love.

There are many who cannot tell their love
is any different from their hunger;
their love is sickly, wan, and even cold,
pale, having drawn no nurture from the black
soil nor any nourishment from the light.
They cannot see the meaning of fire.

The most pure flame is found in star fire;
the cleanest passion is within star love;
the finest shine comes from tiny star light;
the all-consuming maw is star hunger;
the deepest darkness comes from stars gone black;
the iciest frost chills from stars gone cold.

Only in vacuum finds one cold fire -
ever in adversity find black love -
always poets, we hunger for the light.