starry sky night

Per Aspera Ad Astra

The stars don't care about aspirations
Ascetic or saintly
Wan faced or painted faintly.
The stars don't care who reaches
Or stoops, who grasps or plucks
Who drinks or shoots or fucks.
No, the stars are absolute:
They 'Are', they exist - 
They splutter and gutter and fizz.
Some flame out, some implode;
Yet others burn steadily,
Hang dark matter heavily
From sky hooks 
Through bad looks
And hard years endure.

The stars are mindless oinks.
There is no point in telling
This hell or that heaven
To go take a hike, 
Or make it towards the light
Or involve them in the desires
Of wretched artists 
Who concern themselves
With minutiae, 
I tried to tell ya
Per aspera ad astra
Is doomed to failure.

None of us know how to 
Really make it happen
Anyway.

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