An ill-conceived and badly written sonnet

Lovers imagine, as they come together,
a stellar conflagration must persist
or else give way to ordinary weather.
Thus fertile planets die and stars desist.
Astonomers relate a close connection
with foreign suns. Taken to heart through days
of famed discovery and scant affection,
far solitudes of light retain their gaze.
We glimpse the cosmos for a puny measure.
It seems inhabited by burning, strife,
colliding galaxies, consuming violence.
Within one tiny world we find our pleasure.
Here we collect all that we need for life
and love, adore the universe in silence.


I'm writing a poem every day in February. This one is for djjo.