Wondering on the Streets

I wonder if the stars are made of tears. Could it be that in the earth's constant turning yearning that our tears fling off fly off into the night sky burning through the billowy fear turning into moonstone or quartz or some sort of volcanic marvel and seep seep into the cloak of darkness making love making sadness burning bright with all the emotion that made them shamed them into existence? For if the stars are made of tears, my friend I have birthed a galaxy.