We live in a land of kings.

Looking upon the world,
they sit on thrones of broken glass
that distort the world for what it is
and shift through the reigns of reality.

Following when they cannot feel,
their lungs filling with lies
as they believe they can breathe.

They cannot even imagine
the glory of falling stars,
or how far one can fly
if he'll only let himself fall.

The spirit of life,
just passes right through him;
he holds the world in his palm,
yet doesn’t know the colour of open sky.

Marching to a perpetual beat,
he is ignorant of the world beyond
the straight line his sight has become.

Twilight can only cast
melancholy darkness, ever sooner
on the ruins of humanity:
fools who think themselves kings.

...............

That is until the spell breaks with nightfall
¬and their throne of glass shatters beneath them.

Possessed by the plea of their hearts,
these stargazers write their wishes
between layers of broken glass.

Casting off their bottled dreams,
gazers hope they will be found
somewhere beyond their sights;
like silent pleas, they set them off to sea.

They can finally look to the sky,
with eyes that gaze beyond the backs others
and bodies that can move to a different beat:
the one of their own heart.

They see the falling stars,
who leap into the infinite spaces
and throw themselves
over the brink of their fears.

Stars only shine brighter
as years cast themselves off,
and vanish into the nothing.

Falling stars take the wishes
of lazy dreamers,
disappearing with the new wind
to create adventures of their own.

For stars that march to the beat
of unknown drums,
who only hold their broken dreams
beneath glazed eyes,
are the real fools.