source: internet photo john hetzler
Where I walk along the quiet path, head down,
shoulders hunched deep into myself,
the moonbeams kiss the leaves beneath my feet
and the night surrounds me like a reaper's cloak.
Tear-filled eyes lift toward the star-dotted sky.
Laser trails of shooting meteors flash
blue, white, hard, cold,
like the permanent dagger through my heart.
"Is that you, my child?", I ask no one.
"Is that you blowing those stars around?
Are you playing? Happy?"
My mind's eye can see your mischievous smile.
But now the stone within my spirit sinks lower
dragging my vision back to the moonlit path.
Back to lonely reality.
The night is cold, and they're only stars.
Written for and dedicated to my precious girl Aleta.