Interview with a Shooting Star
I met a streak across the night,
a blaze of breath, a flash of flight.
A shooting star with silver flare
descended near, through whispered air.
I asked, “You fall so fast and bright—
what secrets do you steal from night?”
It flickered once, then shaped a voice
as if my soul had been its choice.
"I carry wishes, hopes unspoken,
tokens of hearts that remain broken.
Each trail I burn, a soul’s demand—
a silent prayer not made by hand."
“Do you regret the paths you take,
so brief your flame, then you forsake
the sky, the stars, your cosmic kin—
for just one flash to spark within?”
It laughed—a sound like chiming glass—
"Regret is for the ones who pass
through time without a burst or flare.
I live in sparks, I scorch the air."
"You interview me as I fade,
but do you live the life you’ve made?
Or wait like dust in twilight’s seam,
hoping I’ll grant your dormant dream?"
I tried to speak, but it was gone,
a sizzle swept the dark to dawn.
Yet in my chest, a burning scar—
left by the words of that bold star.
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