Resigning to a fate I despise more than you could know:
Sick and tired of lying here, beneath the starry glow,
Reaching up and for the stars always just out of reach,
Always leaving their starry dust scattered across the beach
On which I walk, inside a deep melancholy daydream
Where black is white and light is dark and nothing’s as it seems,
Bleeding from my very soles from the glass in the sand,
Still reaching up for the stars a twisted, fading hand.
The ocean rocks against the shore, like feelings rolling in
Before the rational wins out and beats them back again.
The waves are too predictable; a weak analogy–
Much better are the shooting stars randomly striking me.
And when I expect to reach one, every muscle stretched
Out to its fullest and when I am full of hope I’ll catch
This twinkling star, this dying star, just as it passes by,
I blink and it is gone from me, now a glint in the eye.