Sparks like candle wax Drip from you intrinsically, Full of energy no matter How far the sun cowers away. Mythic in the way They fly, yet, overlooked somehow In a sea of people starving to See the light,
But the loss Has caged your soul And cast it away, And the sparks fly less frequent As now you recognize The sky is grey, You say crying makes you feel weakness, But glue can only fix some surfaces. Of which, your soul, is no such one.
Mending cannot transpire With but glue and tape, Rather the appliance hinders growth And transformation. Weakness is the act of self dishonesty, And being thrown off By such a loss as this, And accepting that grief has accredited you The will to cry, to taper off the boiling ***, Is beyond that of growth and strength.
Knowing what you deserve Must be the hardest step to take, But taking the wet macular From staining your eyes, So that you might let your sparks Once again shine, Is at the very least that to which I’ve referred. One step at a time, And I’m sure you’ll be right back To skip yourself along in tranquility, But glue can only fix some surfaces.