Dying Song (poetry)

Concrete & Stars

I hate the buildings made by man and the street lights that guide their paths.

I hate the stars that shine bright like distant inky idols beautifully godly and I hate the way they make me want to see one fall, they tell me I could catch them, but I know how they lie.

My eyes are described as dull, plain, boring and just grey.

The brightest star in my life described my eyes as...
"Stars shining on wet concrete"
I asked them why they would say such a thing.
"A part of our souls are from stars and the stars shine through us. Your stars shine through your eyes."

I found my guiding light because the stars in the sky shone down on my sadness and recognised it as their own.

They peak from behind clouds and trees and whisper secrets I remember from my life in the sky.

My eyes see the ways other people's stars shine: through their fingertips, glisten on their skin like dew, shift and flow in the strands of their hair, and it peaks from between their lips like the morning sun rising over mountains.

But seeing is for the blind and believing is for the mind.An endless loop of blindness and betrayal of beauty and faith.

How do your stars shine?

-JRR