Supernova, 2008

And she stood there,
Like some Paris Street Light,
Like some too long, tired night,
You couldn’t see much by her,
The spark behind the eye,
Burned so bright, right through the sky,
The Sun was jealous that day.
She didn’t notice,
Already feeling the wane,
The want,
The longing for the peak of the arc,
Only breaths over it,
knowing it was going,
Going, gone…
While they marveled at the brilliant streak,
Chasing the tail,
Of a light so Heavenly frail in falling,
There couldn’t have been much left of it,
When it hit the pavement,
Make a wish…
And she stood there,
in that place unrecognized,
But for the trace of a glimmer of a glow,
How could they know?
Slowly she turned,
From their expectations,
Re-creations, marginalization,
Degradation, Empty,
Soul Less,
Weigh Stations,
And dropped an eyelid.
Lit the spark,
took off running in the dark,
The far horizon set to flame,
And left them,
Never quite the same.

Categories: Poetry, prose, writing

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