the moon
gives no answers
the stars
died long before
we saw their light

yet every time
i look up
a sense of wonder
fills me
in all the burnt out glory

one day
the constellations
will take new shape
the north star
will be a wives tale

no one
will believe us
when they read
our scribbled mythos
of brilliant fallacies

the thought of them
forging on
without the shackles
of our nonsense
fills me with hope