The stars, ever so predictable, plunge into the void,
a cosmic dance choreographed by irony and fate.
Cosmic Whispers echo,
but who listens when the night is this deep?
The stars, ever so predictable, plunge into the void.
A politician gazes skyward, counting stars like votes,
believing none see the fall, none care for the darkness.
Unending Abyss yawns,
yet the tax returns await her attention.
The stars, ever so predictable, plunge into the void.
Irony coils around truth like smoke around a thought,
twisting, turning, but never catching fire.
Wandering Lights twinkle,
beckoning those lost in the labyrinth of time.
The stars, ever so predictable, plunge into the void.
An artist paints stars on a canvas of night,
oblivious to their downward spiral.
Eternal Void hums,
but brush strokes are all that matter now.
The stars, ever so predictable, plunge into the void.
Hypnotic, the repetition of falling stars,
a lullaby sung by the universe itself.
Celestial Haiku awaits,
where stardust and silence intertwine.
The stars, ever so predictable, plunge into the void.