Fire Fly

6:09 PM flashesofgold 0 Comments

The real spectacle of the firefly
Can only be observed after the
Dimmed silence of its absence
In which it lives as just an insect.

In these few seconds, it has no business
In the hands of a glowing delighted child
And can stand unwatched by the couple enamored
Or the dog trying to extinguish enigmatic fires.

Most of all, these are the moments
In which the firefly can escape greedy hands
Fighting to capture moments long passed
In the flashy jars of their choosing.

But these moments pass and it ignites once more
Its light reflecting in the glassy eyed world
And instead, the firefly dreams of flying without the fire
Or in the least, ending in a fiery fashion like a bee with its last sting.


I'm pretty happy about this one, although I think elongating it will do good things. Also, just a fun fact of the day, my mom was joking around and decided to write a poem of her own...."Micky is white, strawberries are red, bananas are yellow." Oh my mother. Silly as she is, I wish that she could understand my poems a lot more in English. Then she could be a part of something I love so much. Just a thought.

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Waking up at midnight

9:26 PM flashesofgold 0 Comments

I woke up at midnight. I think slightly sleepy inspires a state of artistic zen.
The lines are rather long and the poem is pretty short, but it's the first poem I've been inspired to write since I've gotten home from Ann Arbor.



What am I to you
When you wake in the weary moonlight and you
Find me speckled with the bread crumbs on your kitchen table and
The memory of me trickles in while you pour the last drop of milk and
You sit hearing the clock chipping away at its hours and they almost
Sound like footsteps of two lovers but the
Thought is too horrible and instead you choose to hear the
Air whirring on as the air bleeds out of your lungs and you
Sit watching the sun illuminate as the mist transforms into
Smooth gossamer ghosts in the
Dead of dawn.
Dead.

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