Poetry of sorts

Fireflies

In a field,
of blinking lights.
Lays me, concealed,
to view the sights.

A night so dark,
is lit by hundreds.
I refuse to embark,
for around are bunches.

I stare at the sky,
barely lit by stars.
But surrounding me high,
are lights not from cars.

Blinking and flying
above me so slow.
Millions of light stare as I'm lying,
far from below.

I barely hear any noise,
for I feel at peace.
I no longer hear any boys,
for now I can be released.