Sleeping Beneath The Sky
The earth became my only bed,
The night became my only room.
The stars looked down without a word,
Like flowers blooming on my doom.
The moon passed by with borrowed light,
But never stopped to ask my name.
It touched the rooftops made of hope,
And left me standing just the same.
The wind arrived with empty hands,
It carried scents of someone's home.
It brushed against my aching face,
Then left me colder and alone.
Some windows glowed with yellow light,
Where laughter warmed another night.
I watched their shadows hold each other,
Until they disappeared from sight.
I wrapped my arms around myself,
Pretending they were someone's own.
How strange a heart can beat so loud,
And still the world hears not a tone.
The grass beneath remembered rain,
The sky remembered every star.
I wondered if remembered souls
Could ever travel quite this far.
A shooting star crossed overhead.
They say it grants a whispered plea.
I closed my eyes but said no word;
Some wishes fear what they might be.
The darkest part was not the cold,
Nor sleeping underneath the sky.
It was the thought that if I woke,
No soul would ask the reason why.
So if tomorrow finds me here,
Where dawn paints gold on silent stone,
I'll thank the sky for one more night...
And mourn that I still faced it alone.
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