Yet another from the hated side. But this one came with a reason, part of a 'greater good'. Funny how each poem comes with an assurance to screw my imagination up further, and I'm having to think outside the box at every clench of the pen (or press of keyboard, in my case) - and it's not a carton anymore, mind you. Kind of like some holy vessel except there's nothing holy about it.
If you didn't understand the above lines, let them pass. I'm pretty sure you'd make sense out of the ones that are coming.
a shield against her summer strikes:
no warmth within, no warmth to keep;
“for what’s the world inside but ice
warmer ‘cause it shows to be?”
or so Miss Winter justifies
her taking over time to freeze;
the ignominies of captured life!
brazen to the core – besieged.
enter darkness, exemplified
by spotlight traps as emotions flee;
in blatant truth, like irony hides
in tiny little vacancies.
so what if there’s no fire to fight,
no race to run, no speed to beat?
so what if you feel left behind,
no second breath to help build steam?
no, ‘what if’ is not the way to find
your dream envisioned, fate conceived;
but what’s pinhole light to the firefly,
when the glow inside is guaranteed?
That's not what I think of when I see fireflies. But then again, it's an angle all the same and I think it's pretty much mine. There's not enough optimism in the world to stay alive with flashlights on than to sleep it out and wait for the sun. That's kind of an ambition to me, actually.
