EDIT: I wrote the first draft of this poem after David Bowie and Alan Rickman’s death. This was uploaded the night before news broke of Prince’s passing. Rest in peace.
The universe is in mourning sickness—
The celestial general flares
Across generations, constellations,
Rolling like temari balls or waterwheels;
Predestination, like prestigidation, predicts
The course of supernovas and supernaturalists alike.
Tragedy is always threefold.
But the final vanishing act
Must supersede what came on stage before.