the faith and fury of the firefly

"Hope" is the feathered thing perched on the soul. It sings the tune without saying anything and never - ever - stops. And sweetest is heard - in the gale - I searched for the sore, which met the storm - Abashing the little feeling, the cuckoo could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - Changes that aren't for thee to rejoice with me A way of life that is second to none. What did I see except myself looking for longing? Will you join me in celebrating what I've shaped into a kind of life? I didn't have a craft or a model. Does my sass bother you? Does it exude a sense of doom? Just like the moons and suns, With the predictability of tides, As if hopes were bursting at the seams, Still, I'll rise to the collosal joy of thou. Does my arrogance bother you? Don't you find it difficult? You can shoot me with your words, cut me with your eyes, and kill me with your hatred, but I'll still rise and like And I smile as I've discovered gold mines in my own backyard of memories Something which is mine and am proud of… I'm a black ocean, wide and leaping in the tide, welling and swelling. I've heard it in the coldest land, where there is peace. It never asked for a crumb from me in the end. In a gleeful ray of hope, I propose that we celebrate not meeting. A glimpse was obtained via an interstice. I sat quietly in a corner, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The rushing rays of sunlight are not mine. Nonetheless, I fixed my gaze on thee in the midst of the crowd. I dance like a firefly staring at the burning stove on a cold winter night, perplexed at the burning stove, I meet the light In my rage, I realise the rage is due to fate and a stronger faith. Knowing full well that I will share in your joy far beyond me and us