Poem: Where the Fireflies Are

Creative Commons photo.

Phew, here it is, my latest original five-line poem. This was one of those rare times, at least lately, where I tried writing this five-line poem, did the five lines (and they were rhyming actually!), and then deleted it (probably because of the aforementioned rhyming). I started anew, thought it still crap half-way through, and tried again. So, this is the third iteration of my attempt to hone in on my observation of fireflies last night, the first I’d seen them this season.

Where the Fireflies Are

fireflies piled up in my chest;
blighted wings killed their light.
But one fluttered from my lips
at twilight, going to her, always,
but she did not requite.

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