Watching the fireflies
in the woods, from our back porch,
enlightens each dusk

I see a firefly
He brightens up my night
I find him trying
To be so much more

Yet little does that guy know
He's doing so much more
Alone
that brightens up your night,
Sometimes your life.

Like a Firefly you light the darkness in my presence
Revealing my path so I won't be lost once more
Like a Firefly you are foreign to me, not recognizing your kind
You beauty is rare in these parts
Like a Firefly your actions are peaceful like the beats of your wings
The more their are the brighter your light stretches around me
Like a Firefly I want to capture you in my glass jar
To gaze and admire your unique beauty
Like a Firefly I will release you to your home
Hoping that you'll continue to light my way into your world

im three years old and i watch the fireflies dance.
the reflection of the light sparkles in my eyes, and all that I want is to see them glow.

five years old, and i dance with the fireflies even though my parents tell me not to. jumping, twirling, falling on the sand while the water laps the beach's edge, leaving behind little pieces of seaweed like memories. I believe that if I try hard enough I can glow as bright as them. I know what I want.

10 years old, and i'm trying to catch the fireflies. To hold one in my fist, and have that little light be mine. I know what I want.

23, lying on the beach with a paper and pen. fireflies dance around my head, but they are less of a novelty and more of an annoyance. I swat at them with a furrowed brow and impatient hands. I grab the firefly, and crush it in my hand, watching the light fade out. I do not know what I want.

With his tongue coated in sugar
and a smile seeping with sin,
I ignored what Mama told me
and let that devil in.

they ask me if i love you
and i am quick to shake my head
no, not anymore,
but my dreams still revolve around you
and my stomach feels like cherry stems
tied loosely together, and even though
the words that leave my lips scream
no, not anymore,
the empty feeling in my heart
feels like a snare drum of contradiction

you are fireflies in the backyard dusk
and i am barefoot and flushed cheeks
trying to catch you in my hands
you are red sunsets that fade into dark skies
and the sky seems as though it is bleeding tonight,
and so is my heart,
all for you

it's like i am holding you still, forever
cupped in my hands like fireflies in the summer
and i am sorry,
i am sorry,
i am so sorry,
for holding you captive in
this jar of broken promises

they ask me if i love you,
and i am quick to shake my head
no, not anymore
but i still love you,
i still love you,
i still really love you,
and the reckless, dangerous part of me will always love you

you are my firefly,
and i cannot bring myself to let you go

Fly not yet; 'tis just the hour
        When pleasure, like the midnight flower
        That scorns the eye of ****** light,
        Begins to bloom for sons of night,
         And maids who love the moon.
        'Twas but to bless these hours of shade
        That beauty and the moon were made;
        'Tis then their soft attractions glowing
        Set the tides and goblets flowing
        Oh ! stay, -oh ! stay,
        Joy so seldom weaves a chain
        Like this to-night, that, oh! 'tis pain
        To break it's links so soon.

        Fly not yet; the fount that play'd
        In times of old through Ammon's shade
        Though icy cold by day it ran,
        Yet still, like souls' of mirth, began
         To burn when night was near,
        And thus should woman's heart and looks
        At noon be cold as winter brooks,
        Nor kindled till the night, returning
        Brings their genial hour for burning.
         Oh ! stay,  -oh ! stay,-
       When did morning ever break,
       And find such beaming eyes awake
         As those that sparkle here?

Look how the pale Queen of the silent night
doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,
and he, as long as she is in sight,
with his full tide is ready here to honor;

But when the silver waggon of the Moon
is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
the sea calls home his crystal waves to morn,
and with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.

So you that are sovereign of my heart
have all my joys attending on your will,
when you return, their tide my heart doth fill.
So as you come and as you depart,
joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.

The double moon, one on the high back drop of the west, one on the curve of the river face,
The sky moon of fire and the river moon of water, I am taking these home in a basket, hung on an elbow, such a teeny weeny elbow, in my head.
I saw them last night, a cradle moon, two horns of a moon, such an early hopeful moon, such a child’s moon for all young hearts to make a picture of.
The river—I remember this like a picture—the river was the upper twist of a written question mark.
I know now it takes many many years to write a river, a twist of water asking a question.
And white stars moved when the moon moved, and one red star kept burning, and the Big Dipper was almost overhead.

The Moon more indolently dreams to-night
Than a fair woman on her couch at rest,
Caressing, with a hand distraught and light,
Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast.

Upon her silken avalanche of down,
Dying she breathes a long and swooning sigh;
And watches the white visions past her flown,
Which rise like blossoms to the azure sky.

And when, at times, wrapped in her languor deep,
Earthward she lets a furtive tear-drop flow,
Some pious poet, enemy of sleep,

Takes in his hollow hand the tear of snow
Whence gleams of iris and of opal start,
And hides it from the Sun, deep in his heart.