Exceeds Grasp

Stars above, clawed by branches.
Trying to pull them down to earth.
Try to claim that solace and light.
 I sit around my fire. I look into the flames.
Mesmerized, as I try to call back innocence.
Sweet summer, mother’s hand, fearlessness.
 The stars don’t judge, they don’t speak.
She spoke all too well. Her words came easily.
They still ring in my ears.
 There is a key in the backpack. A key to a door.
Go through the door? Stay here and find something,
anything, to love and believe in and live for?
 The reach of the branches exceed their grasp,
like a mere human reaching up to god, or to another,
or to the stars, to anything to come close.

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