Kiss the sun

We move in circles,
round our life and back again.
Circling through decisions,
avoiding complications.
We follow our path as we are told.
Like the earth to the sun,
we obey our master.
The very one that burns our soul.
Avoiding getting knocked of,
our axis is tipped.
Our tops flipped.
We brake.
Stop.
Start again.
Repetition is easier than originality.
Being original would mean being yourself.
That's a fate few would have.
To expose themselves,
and who they are.
They would rather hide and deny,
be someone else.
We let our lives melt, like stars
trying to kiss the sun.
Burnt up and forgotten,
they fall into oblivion.
A light once burning bright,
with no energy left to fight,
lost and forgotten.
It dies into the night.