Broken

Stars

 I wish I knew why broken hearts never mend.

Why only crazy people fight, but the broken ones never join in unity.

Why is it that people hate the beauty of the rose, but fall in love with the way the thorns prick them.

Why are people so quick to say something, but never listen to the cries of others except their own.

Why is it alright to be foolish and fight, even when it is time for them to be wise and walk away.

I wish I could fly away from all this pain, instead of digging my grave.

I wish I could paint myself with the light of the Heavens, instead of bathing in the fiery pits of Hell.

Wishes are shooting stars.

Stars are the souls of the people who didn't make it, and hope that you could in their stead.

They only come at night, to show you that there is light even in the darkest times.

So I lift up my head and make a wish.

I wish for the ones that don't have a voice of their own.

I wish for the children that never makes it home.

I wish for the mothers that have to let their children go so early.

I wish for the fathers locked away, never again to see the light of day.

I wish for my brothers, for they died a quick and painless death with a target on his back, because of the color of his skin.

I wish for my sisters, for they have to bear the burden of others.

I wish for the cowards who put on a badge and say that they are brave.

I wish for the ones that never had a choice, for them it was hunt or be hunted.

I wish for the broken ones.

I wish for the ones that didn't make it.

I wish for the man that left his son alone.

The man that let his daughter be a victim.

The children that never had a childhood.

The woman that had to deal with a boy instead of a man.

Cooking and cleaning and working and letting him beat her and beat her and beat her.

I wish that broken hearts could mend.

I wish mine could