I watched as you painted a spill of stars,
On your obsidian black canvas.
They were tiny dots, that you flicked off your brush,
Onto the barren skies.
It made me wonder,
How effortless it was.
So I asked you about the careless splatters.
You told me that stars don't choose their destinies,
Or places that they wished to be.
That's why star-crossed lovers,
Are still lovers, even if their love was meant to be over,
As soon as it started.
It is simply written in the stars.
I told you, that there were brighter stars than others,
The twinkling ones were diamonds within coal,
That's what made them special to me.
I sought to see that even in illuminating constellations,
That what dazzles and captivates,
Was the pearl that glistened the most,
Stealing the spotlight from it's allies.
To you, the glimmer was just a part of the stars.
The spark was lesser to the sea of gems,
Which together bind to create the lights we treasure the most.
In the midst of the galaxy,
Competing with the sun is fruitless,
But banding together creates chances,
To stand and shine.
That's why some prefer the milky way,
In the end, the stars were merely pushed aside,
Our talk was taken to the void,
As you painted city lights,
That took over the starry lights.
It was what we viewed,
Over,
And over,
And over,
Again.
Unlike a sliver speck of silver,
On the black nights.
They started to be as rare as aurora borealis.
Yet,
To me,
The stars that lingered on your backdrop,
Were always my favourite.
YOU ARE READING
Daydream Poetry
PoetryA collection of my poems as a teen writer, I wanted to use this as somewhere where I can share my expressions and writing. The poems vary from personal poetry, to poems which I've used in competitions and poems with their own stories. I hope everyon...
