Why am I trying to catch this light,
When it runs away
Just as the last.

Why can't I understand,
That to touch it
Is impossible once passed?

But it's beauty I am left
Entranced, wishing for it
To hold in my hands,

But trying is a frailty better left
In the bottomless pit
I found it in.

For the fly cannot be caught,
Only forgotten to be left alone,
Or swatted after the annoyance.

The light cast before me,
Was not a light,
Just another caught up in their own image,

Gathering a flock of bleating men
Who would swear, each of them,
That the light chose them.

A light only passing by to turn heads,
Is a light better left forsaken,
Never to be admired again.

This game I will not play,
But no worries, little cruelty,
Beyond me await many more to ensnare.