As lights in the night sky,
I oft imagine fireflies stuck
to a cracked glass ceiling above,
fireflies pretending to be stars;
sinners resigned to act the part,
till the fire or the fly die.
Ah! I now see them everywhere,
like phosphenes in my eyes.
Maybe, it's not the infinite roof,
maybe, my eyes, shelter fireflies.
Eyes, pretending to seek truth,
liars resigned to a fake dream,
till nights engulf the lights to die.
Could it be me,
Hanging far above in the sky,
staring down at enormous dust,
of 'humans' pretending to be stars;
carrying little fake stars
in their little fake hands,
shining little fake lights and calling them bright hearts?
Could be, they are so full of lies.
Lonely, quiet, nocturnal stars;
my little sorrows in love with joy,
twinkling, shining, shooting,
wishing, wanting, craving,
crying every night, all night,
to be anything, but
lights in the night sky.