Golden sparks from the hissing crackling fire fly skyward.
Wishes not granted, dreams not caught; memories of forlorn times; be gone.
I craved a
life which was one step distant. Sometimes
reaching out to grasp a taunting hand. Almost, nearly, but ever
inches away.
Start again. Begin anew. Make plans; achievable plans. Shout
to the future, I’m on my way!
Yesterday is now but a pile of crumbling blackened dust. A gust of wind sends it tumbling off into the distant past.
I smile. Good times, here I come!
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Loved what you did with the firefly! You are so right, never stop making plans.
ReplyDeleteFireflies be gone - i think sometimes it's not so bad if wishes and dreams fly away - if we caught them all we may become a little lost
ReplyDeletepowerful.
ReplyDeleteWhat a delightfully introspective piece! Very nice.
ReplyDelete