FireLights

Like a herald of the evening sky is the dawning light between the pine trees.

Gone is the work of day, moving aside for the campfire of the night.

.

For life is bigger than the back yard of the house.

And brighter than the twinkling of the night lights.

.

One by one I count them until I’ve lost count.

For who can count all those little lights?

One by one the sparks of the campfire find my legs.

For I twitch at the pain of those little lights.

.

So I drink a sip of cold tea and dream of worlds yet to write.

Gone is this old place, as my mind dances between worship and worlds yet unseen.

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