“Sparks Fly”


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sparks fly, like little dancing mites–
littering the dark with glittering shine.
the moon is hiding among the clouds.
my soul is cold–lies in the ground.

a tiny flicker, of dusted light,
floats amid the gathering night.
it floats near my line of sight;
teasing me, like a diminutive kite.

the heart that once hoped
for some minute rope,
has given up the onerous fight.
nothing looks good, tonight.

glow some more, tiny sparkly fire.
lend more heat to my pyre.
burn me easy–cover my grief.
the soul gives up–gone stiff.

–Diwa

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