The Peacock Risks of Snowballs

When first I wrote this, I didn't understand why I liked it. After some contemplation I recognized something I hadn't articulated before;
Most people are not afraid to die, just they want to be dominant.


The Peacock Risks of Snowballs

She spends her day comparing the images
  captured last night,
For discrepancies, a flyspeck,
  buzzing by the background of non-flying specks
On negative images, black stars in white space,
"They show up better this way"

Having never found first her own comet,
  she’s helped confirm many, but
Anonymity in lionizing others brings no identity,
  nor prizes or large research grants,
"I’m searching for myself"

"Comets are dysfunctional idiots,
  proverbial snowballs, they hurl toward the sun,
Those who come in closest are the peacocks in their game,
  their great tails live large in a hypnotic plume,
Those passing far off risk less, they’re weak, 
  unspectacular, no panache"

"Some break up as they pass around the sun,
  like a hen going in, her brood in a row streaming out,
Others evaporate, being of slight substance to begin with,
  theirs is the old snowball’s chance in hell"

"Would I had the chance,
  I’d zoom in close, trajectory in perfection,
And I’d glow and I’d shine and I’d
  make such a tale to be told of,
Stellar as a constellation, immortality for a moment,
  then Poof! I’d be gone,
   but you’d know my name!"