POETRY
When Stars Fall
a free verse poem for #starweek
I don’t know when “falling stars” became “shooting stars”
in my life, but one seems too violent for a wish.
The former implies a sort of “external” force
that sends the ball of raging fire across the sky.
And the children and dreamers and idealists
of the world whisper their wishes to the sky.
Here I stand, waiting for a star to die
and paint my wish across the sky —
Have I no empathy for the star? Is it wrong
that I want it to paint my name across the sky?
With its death? How horrid!
Who kicked this idea into motion?
Maybe then, my name in fiery streaks, I’d deserve to be me.
Maybe then, my soul acknowledged, I’d earn my wish.
Too many nights, staring and waiting
Blackness, vast blackness, withholding
Stars are for other people,
a voice whispers inside of me.
Me. What the crap is that anyway? Sometimes I breathe
and think it wondrous. Other times I see the vast, vast SKY
