Faux Stars

I've been out for a few hours, watching the night
Breathing in the evanescent darkness as I wait
A pale crescent dims in comparison to its millions of neighbors
It's they I watch, waiting for one to falter, to die
Waiting for a death of a faux star to make a wish or prayer
Why we beg these falling projections of light
Is far beyond my knowledge, but alas, I take the bait
As I ask inanimate deities for impossible favors
Because each evening spent with the stars is full of wishes, funerals, and good-byes
If a shooting star descends, we must benefit from its demise somehow, its only fair.

And if I cannot find a shooting star tonight
Could you send me one of your own, from the other side of the world
How many wishes could you need, how much glowing shrapnel from the sky
It is selfish and far too human if you are the only one with chances
I'm exhausted of counting them, and finding pictures that promise me nothing
Stars illuminate minimally and I'm frightened by what goes bump in the night
It's a dangerous pastime, staying out to wish, this truth unfurled
If I had wings, I wouldn't stand on the ground to beg, but instead join them and fly
You wish for grandeur, for riches and love, but I ask for mere advances
I want a stronger facade, a more stable mind, more stars to speak to, less reasons for bluffing.