Summer nights had lost their luster
As a million fireflies dim their embers;
Only in nostalgia could we glance
Those scenes where they once danced

Lost are their glimmer—
The forests mourn their partners
For they've taken its tiny souls
Mystic glows that made them whole

Their embers were put to rest,
And murk swallowed these blessed;
Their shine that wanes to bloom
Now forever sleeps in gloom.

Fireflies nice and sweet
The moonlight dreaming
Upon her crescent hips

Reynaldo Casison

Ah, sleek moonlight, velvety soft,
Unfurls the path to the Taraweeh Mosque.
Countless fireflies, on fine silken wings,
Catch fast in the silver weave of lunar groves.
Soon, the first Ramadan crescent blooms above,
While the silent tuberose lingers, imprinting deeper still.
Oof—how many did I embrace? One or two?
Myriads light the way to the Taraweeh Mosque.

It was only the other night—
The first crescent of Ramadan shimmered,
Piercing the flawless forehead of twilight,
In the hush of the fading dusk.
Even now, across the half-lit horizon,
Sleepless full-moon stars drift,
While the first, blessed crescent of Ramadan
Moves on in seamless procession.

When will the celebration reach its full bloom?
Today marks the fourteenth fast,
Already shining upon the fourteenth moon!

Some ballerina fireflies
Cant stay quite still
For the painters gaze
When their love Is
sweetly ablaze and all is chill

Reynaldo Casison

The Evening Fireflies
Can Sweetly Waltz
WithIn The Maple Honey of Breeze

Reynaldo Casison

Fingers—
laced in glow spill, dusk-slick.
tiny suns,
trembling—bodies of light,
trapped.

pulse-thrum,
hush-black air—
soft hymns flickering,
pleas pressed to glass,
breath-fogged, burning.

whispered tomorrow—
honey-thick, guilt-laden,
beauty begged to be held.

dawn—
bled dry.
cold palms, hollowed vessel,
absence like ruin.

I lied to the glass.
worse—
I stole their dying light.

& now—
I bear their afterglow
like a wound that refuses to dim.

Sticky summer evening,
Warm, young, beautiful.
Flitting throughout the night,
Bountiful bundles of fireflies.
Flickering in the breezes,
A soft golden mist.
New summer's evening,
Graced by the lightning bugs.

Sojou-
rning, sco-
rnfully, to J-
upiter's red s-
***. The circu-
lar, scarlet rage,
it, roundly, and, r-
ubily, rotates, into
whirlwinds, of ste-
aming, magma, hot.
The firef-lies, lay, t-
heir eggs, in; truth,
and, hope, that, d-
eceptions, hatch.
The batches, fl-
y, never, brou-
ght to, light.
Oppressi-
vely, the-
y, stay.

© poormansdreams