Dead Stars Poem Novels & Stories

My poem. I stare at the ceiling, the white veins of the exposed concrete. The city, below, blinks with its thousand indifferent lights. It doesn't know. It doesn't know that the universe has just recentered, reduced itself to this room, to this smell, to this feminine body collapsed against mine.

Realizing this brought a deeper despair than Dad's scoldings or the icy coldness of my body. I didn't dare go near Bella again. I was afraid she would cry more and Dad would berate me again. Like an exiled stray, I drifted helplessly out into the backyard. Night fell, and the freezing wind howled through the trees, sounding as if it were weeping for me. I looked up at my tiny corpse hanging between the branches and the balcony. Masked by the dark night and the silhouettes of the bare trees, it looked like a tattered rag swaying in the wind.

REMY POV The Deadlands did not know the mercy of night. The bruised purple sky remained fixed in a permanent, sickening twilight, denying the world the solace of darkness or the hope of dawn. Time here didn't march; it oozed, a slow, viscous trickle of suffering marked only by the deterioration of the man lying on the cold stone floor.

The kind that reminds you that you’re small, that your heartache doesn’t even ripple through the universe. Dad once told me that the stars are the oldest witnesses to our secrets. He used to say, “When you’re lost, India, just look up. The stars will never lie to you. They’ll always lead you back.” I didn’t understand it then. But tonight, under this heavy silence, I think I do. Because the stars don’t just shine, they listen. They take everything we can’t say, everything we bury, and they hold it until we’re ready to face it.

The night was a tapestry of stars, scattered across the velvety sky like shimmering pearls on black silk. The wind whispered through the palace courtyard, carrying with it the cool breath of the desert that melted against the warmth of the stone walls. Inayat sat beneath the open sky, her shawl wrapped snugly around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the stars. She had become familiar with their constancy, their quiet brilliance in the vast, uncertain night. There was a peace in the heavens that escaped her own world, one filled with turmoil, choices, and a future uncertain. The stars, though, they always remained — timeless, patient, and steady.

I thought they were not revealing it to the public? All my questions have evaporated when the crystal ball began speaking, the said prophecy absorbed all my attention and so it did to everyone else leaving the room with nothing but the majestic voice from the crystal ball. *"All night by the white stars' frosty gleams Descent of thy Goddess appear in thy lofty dreams And the eyes forget the tears they have shed Who succumb shall come forth from the dead The breeze comes whispering in thy ear Till the Gods comes flooding back with a ripply cheer

I laughed, uncomfortable. “Perhaps,” he murmured, resting his chin on my forehead. He parted his wings to reveal the stars above. “There is a cave, Shannon, in the depths of space. It stretches on for infinity, lined with burning tallows. Candles soar to the heights of the stars. Rows of souls nestle together; wax drips as time runs out. Each flame is a life: newborns have full sticks, the middle aged are stubs, and the dying snuff in waxy pools.”

"Describe something." I gently take my place beside him. "What do you mean?" "You always make the simplest things so intricate." I rest my head against my pillow and glance over to him. "Okay, well, the night. The sky floats above like a inky mixture of endless possibilities. Millions upon millions of stars—like a artist took white paint and splattered them relentlessly at a black canvas. Each one could hold different words, and they all drift above in an array of lights, shining and dancing, triggering emotions. The moon, silver and sliced, casts its unearthly glow down on us like a spotlight on a stage. You feel as if your life is the main act, but it is not, it is part of exhibition, and

★。＼｜／。★ VANESSA DAVIS ★。／｜＼。★ I sat on my bed, my laptop in place as I read through the post I'd written just moments ago. /Metropolitan Muse Hey, Muse Squad! I’ve seen falling stars before—small streaks of light cutting across the sky, gone before you can even make a wish. But last night? Last night was different. Dusty Creek continues to surprise me. I expected quiet nights, crickets singing in the distance, maybe the occasional hoot of an owl. I didn’t expect to witness an entire sky full of falling stars, each one burning bright before vanishing into the darkness.

“The god that flies on the wind, exchanges an oath with fate, The god travels on the wind with its roaring wings. The light of the beginning sparkles.. sparkles.. The light of the end.. lulala lila. The flames of hundred of millions of lives, fall smoothly and became stars. Flowing, flowing, they are beautiful, And then once again, in the cradle of life and death. They froth slowly. Sing. Sing now these two wishes, Strongly.. strongly shine the god of heaven, They speak of eternity.”