If there was a firefly to linger
as the sparks fade into stars
perhaps I would not

think of hope as a flighty
and iridescent stranger.
But I lie,

for that is my curse — to hope
despite the fading vistas of
my dreams, and the rain

which erases the directions
that I drew on the sidewalk.
The pep-talk’s in poetry —

and the blue of the forget-me-not
still hopes — though forgotten.
And I, if God himself lost sight of me,

perhaps I would yet believe
in miracles, whatever they are,
and that sparks are fireflies — are stars.

Written April 2013, Emma Dumitra.
Image from science.howstuffworks.com.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s