Laying upon a rooftop,
staring at the stars,
searching for a planet,
perhaps Venus,
or maybe Mars.
Popping out of dark sheets,
like luminous eyes of dust,
they seem to stare back at you,
reflecting beauty and lust.
Careless where they reside,
they spot every inch of the sky,
and kissing the clouds as it rains,
they give into fog as they fade.
They seem to make you think,
perhaps of life or its reasons,
or maybe something you miss,
or the essence of the seasons.

Laying upon a rooftop,
staring at the stars,
searching for a planet,
perhaps Venus,
or maybe Mars,
now the dawn has come,
the stars are on the run,
it’s time for reality,
and a day of worthless fun.
So when the stars return,
to that next dark sky,
I’ll take time out of reality,
a rooftop’s where I’ll lie.
 
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