My window is open with no screen and there's a starling in the tree that lurks
On my side of the house, and it rains pearls from a clear blue sky. an untidy plethora of jubilation !
I drew the blinds. The window is Open with No screen; and there's a starling
in the frame of a masterwork, chirping calamitous joy to the farside of god's creation !
I drew the blinds. And a blind-spot drew me.

I drew the blinds. And a blind-spot drew me.

My best friend is killing me within each and every breath.
Since I was just a child it's been planning on my death.
So long as I recall it's been the only friend around,
Taking all my stress and always there to calm me down.
So many friends have come and gone alike with all the years,
So many times to pick me up and help me fight my tears.
Had I known the fight, I'd take back every strike and strife.
Escaping every anxious moment isn't worth my life.
Eighteen years has come and gone and now I'm twenty-nine.
And death should be my strongest vice to get you off my mind.
And still I sit with you my friend these days make me regret,
The moment I decided to light up that cigarette.

She told me once
that she's never
seen a firefly.

Last night, I tried
to catch her one.

The evening breeze
had drawn it close;
silently it
wandered through the
open window.

At first, moonlight
masked its entrance.
The modest torch
it carried had
been overwhelmed
by shades of grey.

It landed on
a tiny leaf,
from vines that crawled
up the walls, and
into my room.

Resting quietly
on its platform,
the dull, green strobe
pulsated, slow
constant rhythm.

I cupped my hands,
extended them,
and gently reached
out toward the
unsuspecting
visitor. It
stayed, motionless.

At that moment,
I knew it was
mine to keep. For
you. For me? I
can't remember.

It had become
my light, my warmth.
All that mattered,
to me it was.

I opened my
cupped hands. Still it
stayed, motionless.

One, two, three, four.
I noticed that
every burst had
become dimmer
than the previous.

It was dying.

I imagined
it must've tried
hard, gathering
enough courage
to shine brightly
in the darkness,
but a firefly
cannot outshine
the brightest star.

If I had known.
If I listened,
I would've heard
its humble plea:
Though my light fades,
let me rest here
in your own warmth.

You don't glow green,
but I see it.
You are shining.
Let me rest here
in your own warmth.

She told me once
that she's never
seen a firefly.

Tonight, I will
tell her how I
had caught her one,
and what I learned:

*Seek not the weak
light that flickers
in another.
Look inside you.
It burns bright red.