Wish upon a falling star

When I was young, I used to wish upon a falling star,

only later could I see the stars for what they truly are.

Catapulting rocks of beauty, sparks, passion and fire

leaving nought but scorching craters of unquenched desire.

(Tis strange though, how desire will call upon me,

even though I tell it not to be.)

These alluring, roaming wildfires, crashing free across the sky

they are as damned as my wishes upon them truly are a lie.

A beautiful lie arising from a desired wish, with no hope leaving

but the charming words thrown out to all of us, the self-deceiving.

(I whisper, do I yearn to burn?

The heat will never cool if I do no learn.)

Then finally came the night whence I closed my eyes to a falling star

I ignored the striking light, and wished the bugger away, by far.

That night I felt my emotional destruction cooling off in the dark

making my wish into a promise to myself, to create my own life spark.

(And what a spark it will be!

Now I live life like I´m free!)