N i c o l a B o u r n e

Poetry

Stars don’t die quietly

they scream light into the blazing sky

with Ares’ sword pointed towards themselves

spitting and burning the

truth

they splatter blinding supernovas

into the black padding of the night

dying stars don’t wink at the moon but take

pride in their indifference to

Death

and their

Love of the withering

light that burns them up from the inside

constellations of dust and

dents that hold the everlasting dark

until they do no more and

_