"If astrology is bunk then the stars don't matter."
But astronomy divines that they do, that we are
such stuff as stars are made, did make.

Stars are not portents of luck or doom, no disaster
is in the stars except their own demise.
In this deep field, stars seem packed in all these 
galaxies, but it's an illusion, there's mostly vastness
dark and appalling when I think that all galaxies
drift away from us and one another, it may be forever.

Or may we take solace, on our rare earth,
that we really have nothing to do with those vast eons?
Our eyes blink, mere fireflies,
next to the endurance of a star.

Maybe cosmos would matter
more to us if we could traverse
the light-years, or return from a star-journey still young,
or even if, like the lucky few,
we all could understand the math
that plots unthinkable curves of universe.
 
And my soul is not in the quasar,
my heart is not in the pulsar,
Quasar gives off light, pulsar throbs,
but that soul, that heart, so far, so far away,
cannot be mine, even in part.
 
But still I study, I love the stars, an amateur,
I know constellations, I know clusters
from asterisms, just in case eternity 
is not the null set or the void. 

When I am light in the boundless dome
I will know my way, I will feel at home.