Stars never shone so brightly
in summer skies and on lonely nights,
before now, at my window
shadows cast by streetlights.

Planets shining brighter still,
maps in the sky above my head
pointing the way but I can’t follow,
I’ll never again be so easily led.

Stars and comets, clouds and sky
far above me yet feel like home,
my nightly companions, lighting my vigils,
window-spent nights when I’m entirely alone.

(c) 2008.

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  1. This is my kind of poem. When I set out to write, this is what I aspire to reach to. It doesn’t always work. Why stifle creativity? It has to run and sometimes we have to force ourselves to write or to use laxatives (in a figurative sense, of course).


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