That Never Burns Out

When you sit on a roof top
Made of cobble stones,
Patched together with cemented hope.
Looking up at the stars,
Each one,
Looks like a firefly,
From the sweet July nights.
Each star,
Almost in your grasp,
Dancing between your fingers.
Everyone holds a wish,
That never burns out.
Just dancing fireflies.
A glow, so pure.
A warmth you no longer see,
That still lingers on your cheek,
From the tiny sweet kisses,
Of a summer wind,
Which escaped so long ago.
Leaving the world stranded in this new,
Dead waste land.
Looking up at fireflies,
Which are almost in your grasp.
Each one holds a wish
That never burns out.

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