Comets

It's a scary thing, to do.

A frightening thing, to act.

Sometimes it's hard to follow through,

And so you wait in bed, compact.

Beyond that door, there is a world of hurt

And the bed is safe and warm,

But on the chair is your coat and big-boy-shirt,

And you have to face the storm.

Sometimes, at night, you see the stars,

You feel the sky is raining fire

While the dull, electric rush of cars

Makes you wish you don't aspire

To freedom

And to love.  Be bold,

And seldom

Will you feel old.

Let the comets grace your skin.

Let the wind caress your hair

And follow down your spine and in

Your chest, and breathe away despair.

Face the lightning on the road

And the fury in the stars.

Leave the safety safe at home.

Give yourself some battle scars.