Written by Corinne Sherwin

Illustrated by Sydney Mitchall

It is strange to say that stars can be born out of nothing but dust

scattered throughout the universe.

Turbulence gives rise to knots of dust and gas which heat up and

become stars.

Telescopes land on this muse of light,

and suddenly everyone throws out names and signatures,

trying to claim the imminent beauty.

In a small town, beings emerge from amity stemmed from trust.

A small boy stands,

far too thin with dreams too big to catch fire and attention.

His heart pulsing with a light not yet extinguished by the indigent

town which housed his two feet, two hands, and beating heart.

Before the star has fused all the hydrogen in its core, it begins to burn up,

furiously pushing itself apart as skin breaks from bone,

nails push away from fingers,

until all that is left is a splatter of blood in the sky from supernova.

Entity limited by magnitude,

a star takes a million years to be created,

and billions of years to die.

Before the effects of a single dot of molten gold disappearing from the sky

is felt by the souls which so eagerly wanted something conspicuous,

to prove that a bed of dust

could still be luminous.