The sun sinks down under the horizon, which excite my little fireflies.
They come out aglow as I say, “You are a welcome sight, my little fireflies.”
They blanket the vast and the empty darkness with their happy, blinking smiles.
When they dance, their cheerful routine brings forth a blazing light—my little fireflies.
They weave through the grasses, twirling in their hypnotic, radiant ballet.
I watch them flash in and out of existence with delight—my little fireflies.
The entire sky is filled with the twinkling lights that drift just out of my grasp.
I try to capture the frolicking stars, but they take flight—my little fireflies.
When the true stars finally appear on stage, my lightning imposters mourn.
They bid farewell to their watcher and I reply, “Goodnight, my little fireflies.”
YOU ARE READING
Storm Prophecies
PoetryRain falls in crosshatch across the lamp lit sky, splattering the asphalt ground with splashes of reflected light. I look at the sketchbook in my hand and trace the penciled rain and smudged glow. It was shit. I let to book fly onto the muddy grass...
