Sitting alone,
Under the stars,
Shining bright,
Upon the world,
I realised,
How lonely I was.

It didn't matter,
That teenagers were playing,
Ball in front of me,
Or that they had a coach,
Guiding them,
For their tournament.

I was alone,
Like that lone star in the sky,
Which just stood there,
Far away from the moon,
Like a sore thumb,
Even if it was a twinkling one.

It looked to me,
That the star was staying afar,
From the moon,
So that it wasn't blocking,
It's path from shining,
So bright.

Wasn't that ironical,
I thought,
When there were so many other stars,
Clustered around the moon?
Were they blocking it's path in shining brighter?
Hardly, I thought again.

Weren't the stars shining brighter,
Because of the moon?
Or did they pull up their own light,
And shine as bright as the moon?
I looked back at the lone star,
And it was the only one twinkling.

It wasn't shining as bright,
But it was the only one twinkling,
And it made me wonder,
Was it twinkling as a way of showing it's sadness,
In not being able to be one of those,
Cluster of stars surrounding the moon?

What a joke,
Nature was showing me,
I thought,
As I was the lone star,
Afraid to approach the good person,
I have known forever.

Like the lone star,
I wasn't ready,
To be an obstacle in the good person's path,
While glowing bright,
Even if he is surrounded,
By lots of equally bright people.

I realised,
That it wasn't necessary,
To be in a bright person's presence,
To be bright,
But you are bright,
As long as you keep twinkling.

Given that,
Under no circumstances whatsoever,
You stop twinkling,
For others,
But for yourself,
If you no longer want to be special.

__________

I don't think that can be called a poem...a narrative. It's a narrative. :)

©VioletEden