That flammable body which
many confuses it as a
flammable
material
of
gasoline
to light up; to
start
a new
future
which
the burning
fire used
the golden light
that the gaps of
the past revealed.
How can you
ever trust
the fire again?
the one
that
burned
your house?
You reached for
warmth like
it was
the ice age,
you reached
for the light
like a
moth, yet,
you
still
tend
to hide
in the
darkness
of your own
sanctuary's palms,
the room
full
of your
past pieces of
peace, and calmness.
How can you
ever trust
the
philanthropic
air
again?
the one who
turned you
into a
tornado,
yet,
you still went
out to
the 'old'
garden where
the calamity took,
that piercing
light thru
suffocating clouds
reminds you
of sanguine
dreams
that nurture
you ever so
softly.
If a firefly died
because
of it's own natural
spark, would
it still be able
to light it up again
using the ashes
of it's dying
limbs?
Or would it make
a shelter for
other fireflies
who also have
lost their spark
to relight
their flammable
bodies and
and let the one
that built the
warm oasis
die?
If i were one
of those flashlights
that lost
my royal glow,
i'd rather
let the
325 lumens
transmit
in the empty
spaces of darkness.
©sars.
J