Ever-present wonders, exuding fragments
of hope for all ages to see,
a pathway for misguided barks,
Constellations pursue their graceful duty
ensuring the darkest nights are free of darkness.
The fluidity of their every move cries the skips
of a foxtrot dancer.
Or back on Earth, just another match day.
Exerting enough pressure on a simple, round object
to force it within primitive posts,
to result in the ultimate 'stardom'.
Is it right to speak of wondrous constellations and humans
dying for the quick switch of feet in the same breath?
I think so.
In the end, we are all just lost spectrums drifting through space
searching for that one guiding star to shoot us into place.
By Fraser Le Tissier