The bulb fizzled out above us –streetlamp
Half-lights painted abstract art instead. We
Lay in bed, half asleep ourselves, in damp
Sheets and heavy limbs, unable to see
The ceiling display unfolding above.
We spent our time asleep, dreaming in sync,
To the beat of your twitching. Is this love?
Because I swear I saw it in the brink
Of now and then, as the little death won:
The heavens opened and the singing spheres
danced wild through your eyes. A trinity spun
into a song that only I could hear.
Stirring, you saw none of that, while the lights
Of the streetlamps hummed softly in the night.

by Jedidiah Fleming

The World is my Kryptonite.
It was delivered by a Canaanite.
It is so very black and white.
Black as black midnight.
White as white starlight.
Hotter than a fist-fight.
Colder than a frostbite.
It tries to lure you to the fight.
Being naturally impolite.
Always swelling with pride and might.
Soaring like a meteorite.
Exploding like dynamite.

O, but it is a parasite!
Warping every human right.
Dealing every man-made fright.
Feeding like a scabie mite.
Destroying like a forest blight.

Yet it craves a ray of Light.

From it, I remain from sight.
It is worse than any stage fright.
A never-ending snakebite.
Seeing without sight.
Hearing without height.
Choking out the sunlight.

The world is my Kryptonite.
But parts of it may turn to Light.
So its pain I will carry on.