Sparks in the Dark

The Stars.

They prick my soft feet skin
The grassblades, they do;
But does it matter?
Be it grass, be it thorns; iron nails even;
My crack in my heart hurts more.

I remember the memories
the happy times;
Under the sun in the day,
Night come over us;
We, under the sky of millions stars,
Or zillions, were they?
Shooting stars many
A spark crossing the black sky,
And dropping into the dark.
When besides me you lay; a gift to the core;
What could I wish for more?
Fell a thousand dozen in the vast,
I had nothing for to ask.
But where I live now,
Present and not the past;
In your place, nothing but my hand skims the grass;

Alas, alas,
Now that I crave the shooting stars;
Oh, love, I am here on my knees;
Won't you come and put this pain to a cease?
Or else
I am always here
Begging the stars
Till the sky empties.