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Catch A Shooting Star And Put It In Your Pocket
Have you ever seen a shooting star?
The night clouded, clouded with its little sparks
But not shooting
Not flying out of their little dark pockets
But sitting still,
There for me if I were to pluck them out in need.
Those little lights
Never to be blinded by the dark
For those lights were always there when I plucked them out in need
But you, you were shooting
In my direction
You and those good intentions of yours
I never thought I'd say'
Maybe too good for me at the moment.
Yes, yes maybe, but who would have thought?
Do you not know, that there is the possibility that I may not catch you
For I am so used to the burn of my collapsing sun
My collapsing sun, with its
Hollow rays of light
I ripped through the flames
The passionate flames
And found inside the dust
I sucked at the dust with every breath of air
I sucked at the dust but there was never 'no more'.
I coughed and gagged and breathed my life into the rays
For so much of my oxygen supply became that sun.
So I may not catch you
But I will never drop you.
Though I know you have fallen
Fallen it seems in my direction
And you have held me up in your struggle
Not solid in all ways
Though I know you're not hollow
You're filled with blood, and bone, and truth
A lullaby sung beautifully in the midst of twilight
Stuck in the midst of my twilight
And in it you have become my shooting star.
The loss of you, leaving the bullets sting
Silver in its glory
But I fear it will rust with your distance
Leaving the hole to turn up its heavy head
And smirk at me.
With that ever too familiar grimace.