With eager young eyes
We chased the fireflies
That lit the dusky night
To own his mystical light
We chased the neon flight
Our prison of suffocating crystal
Glowed with his light so magical
That we smiled to think we owned it
But he, imprisoned, only loaned it
He died lighting a jail that wronged it.
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Oh dear, I am thinking of all the fire flies my siblings and I caught as children and used them to make what we thought were beautiful rings. It broke my heart, when I discovered it took their death to bring me childish pleasure. Having said all that, I do like your poem!
Brenda, the title grabbed my attention, as I experience my first fireflies in August, while over in Michigan for the FaithWriters Conference. I was enchanted. They are truly a most glorious part of God's creation. As an Australian, I'd never seen anything like them and found it almost impossible to do them justice when describing them to my family.
The first part of your poem is so full of childlike wonder, and I think that's why the second part of your poem hits so poignantly.
Thank you for bringing back a very special memory of my time in the US.
Love, Deb (Editor, FaithWriters' Magazine and Challenge Coordinator)