Listen to poem:
No one consoles them
No voice that they are given to reply with; still, they find every way possible to inspire
From this rooftop, the city lights conceal them with a thousand miles of burning fire.
Muted by their very existence without ears, intentionally they listen closely to celestial stillness; it's impossible not to admire
In an ocean of the blackest tears, they've wept from bearing the sadness; our consciousness reaches them like a spire.
Driving to the nearest destination lacking albedo the earth's finest attire
So, my beloved stars, here I am to listen to you; tell me all your fears; I will console you as long as you require
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