posted on: Thursday October 29, 2015
by Konner Jebb
The boy held a lightning bug in his hands
and thought it as stardust.
He sat in the field and looked up
A colorless dome spread out before him; eternity.
Angels trapped within stars.
Interlocked hands opened, welcomed by yellow light
reminding him of flames. Of candles guarding
her mahogany casket.
He heard no whispers of nursery rhymes or lullabies.
Bruises remain sore,
cuts filthy and damp. Tears strayed silently
with no solace.
He prodded the bug, its illumination for proof that
it was a fallen angel. He searched for its black, crippled wings
under its legs. Maybe she’d appear to help.
He sprawled his fingers,
cracked knuckles allowing the bug passage,
warmth dimmed and extinguished, the stone insect falling
into the blackness of the mud beneath
the boy’s feet.