He was an insect in the woods,
No greed would ever think of it as food—
But a hope in the dark, a pity in the light.
In some context, he is sharp; a mighty guide.

A nuisance in a runaway's eyes—
For those who chose to be dark, this little moon is disliked.
But the firefly is a dazzling faith for a lost soul,
In the darkest of the night, it might silence a tiger's roar.

It once seated on the tip of my finger,
Treated my touch as one of its many lovers.
It slept way too fast, still, I did not hear it sound.
Betrothed to the night, it soon flew when the moonlight had it found.

A glimpse of it from afar is telling me he is lost.
Continuing on its way on a distance, my sight cannot hold,
It left me with a life and a story that I am not supposed to know—
"My lantern is a sepulcher of thousands' aspirations."


© loucaaedee