I look up at the stars at night, and wonder why they’re all so bright.
I look up at the stars at night, and wonder if they have to
fight, have to fight for all their might, for their special place in the sky
Oh my, I wonder why, oh why they have to die.
How many could there be in the dark night sky,
how many could there be in the humans little eye.
I try to count yes count them all, the souls
of the fallen, I hear them call, to their
families the ones in their homes.
All their voices go at once, all their voices quiet and mute.
They fall, and fall, and fall at last, they fall and fall, fall so fast.
The difference I kindly see is that they only
want to be, with their families safe and
sound, but sadly they are tightly bound.
It’s wrong to say they’ll be okay, It’s 1855
you see, when all the blacks were sent to sea,
to work as slaves they didn’t want to be.
So look up at the stars tonight, and wonder
why they’re all so bright, because you see
they’re all the souls, of the ones you wrongly chose. ©
2009 - Miranda Mack-Jackson
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
I look up at the stars at night, and wonder why they’re all so bright.
I look up at the stars at night, and wonder if they have to
fight, have to fight for all their might, for their special place in the sky
Oh my, I wonder why, oh why they have to die.
How many could there be in the dark night sky,
how many could there be in the humans little eye.
I try to count yes count them all, the souls
of the fallen, I hear them call, to their
families the ones in their homes.
All their voices go at once, all their voices quiet and mute.
They fall, and fall, and fall at last, they fall and fall, fall so fast.
The difference I kindly see is that they only
want to be, with their families safe and
sound, but sadly they are tightly bound.
It’s wrong to say they’ll be okay, It’s 1855
you see, when all the blacks were sent to sea,
to work as slaves they didn’t want to be.
So look up at the stars tonight, and wonder
why they’re all so bright, because you see
they’re all the souls, of the ones you wrongly chose. ©
2009 - Miranda Mack-Jackson
I had this published 8 years ago, my freshman year of high school.
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