Lightning Star

Gazing at my ceiling,
The window tightly closed,
I think about the stars
And those wonderstruck guitars
That I once thought drove my soul.
And I cannot help but ponder
How my mind is filled with yonder
And its crippling agened toll.
I contemplate the beauty
Lying hidden under duty
And the chains I call my role.
I contemplate the freedom
Left untouched in the arboretum
As if silencing the wind's hum
Could then save me from its cold.
Oh, but safety's curse is darker,
Far more crippling, so much sharper,
In its deep unflinching hold.
The ceiling doesn't sparkle,
Neither sings, nor does it startle,
Only answers with its charcoal
Collored silence sevenfold.
Alas, my wish for nothing
Has brought me back to wondering
About those distant lightnings
Burning high above my window
With their everlasting glow.