#fireflywn

29 posts
  • _firefly 4w

    I have been growing hope in your backyard,
    in secret, lining it silently behind
    the white petals of petunias and lilies
    you smell everyday before the sunrays
    kiss the feet of your grass filled garden.
    There is so much beauty and serenity
    dripping down your hazel brown eyes,
    which cry every night for all the untold
    myriad losses your bones have braved.
    You smile like those abandoned flowers,
    your mother left to wither, after your
    father's cremation, for they reminded
    her of his gentle words and kind heart.
    And the courage in your crimson cheeks
    expands as you see the sun, rise every
    morning, tirelessly, blazing all alike.
    You carry those petals to decorate your
    hair and your heart, scenting your presence
    with the golden hope, my hands weaved for you.

    _firefly

    #start #wod #somuchc @writersnetwork thank you❤ #fireflywn

    PS. For a friend. ��

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  • _firefly 4w

    TW: VIVID IMAGERY (CAN BE DISTURBING)


    When forgiveness is a sin

    I am sorry for punishing you
    Oh wait, actually I am not,
    Dare you stare into my eyes
    And ask why!
    Because you are a monster
    who took away my self esteem,
    that night, when you crept in my bedroom,
    with a faint tread of your evil feet
    You tore apart my tunic
    Digging your dirty fingernails
    into my bare scarless skin,
    You shoved a cloth in my mouth,
    to stop my screams from being heard
    by the careless humans residing
    behind the walls of my room.
    You robbed me of
    my innocence,
    my dignity,
    my sanity,
    leaving me bereft of emotions
    and joy,
    which I once thought were mine.


    Am I sorry for punishing you
    Oh wait! I am actually not
    Because your abusive hands
    dried out all my hopes
    and positivity and made me
    Silent casualty as
    You assaulted me,
    Again and again,
    Ruthlessly,
    Cruelly,
    with a sluttish drunkenness,
    ruling above your head.
    My muffled cries
    broke me into pieces
    creating deep incurable voids
    inside my mind and
    the bruises you gave me
    on my cheeks
    throbbed as my salt filled
    tears hit them.
    With your every touch
    I felt
    the life inside me
    twist and turn,
    And at last it was
    butchered
    when you left me alone
    bleeding
    to death.
    You robbed me of
    my innocence,
    my dignity,
    my sanity,
    leaving me with a flaming fire of vengeance,
    burning my insides.

    I am sorry for punishing you,
    Oh wait, actually I am not,
    for you deserved your
    head to be separated from your torso,
    with the axe and the anger my father gave me,
    As a family heirloom,
    Because you tore apart my soul from my body.
    You! You robbed me of
    my innocence,
    my dignity,
    my sanity,
    leaving me emptily lying on cold floor
    And air choking my breaths with the scents of your filthy feet.

    I am sorry for killing you
    Oh no! I'm terribly not
    Neither for being victim of your vicious deed,
    Nor for making your inhuman heart bleed.
    I am sorry for killing you
    Oh no! I'm terribly not
    Neither for taking justice into my own hands,
    Nor for being a woman who'll be forever damned.

    My hands are blazing red, is it your blood or my agony.

    _firefly



    #epistrophe #wod @writersnetwork thank you ❤ #fireflywn

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  • _firefly 5w

    This is not a love poem but a poem about love.

    My naive, young heart,
    walked on the path of love,
    and the sun shone brighter,
    upon the chrysanthemums growing
    betwixt our proximate souls.
    My first autumn in love,
    was like an enchanting poetry,
    your head rested upon my shoulder,
    I baked joy filled cakes for you,
    and you chased me in the woods.
    I wrote poems adorning your name,
    you recited sonnets honouring our love,
    we spoke to the moon, and it's stars,
    to let our lover know how much
    we miss them while apart.
    But as the day ends at the dusk
    and night at the dawn, our love
    got smudged in those twilight shades
    roughly painted over horizon.
    The ink in my quill dried and formed
    a sedimentary stone in my throat,
    Your voice kept echoing in my ears,
    as my all my gardenias withered,
    and butterflies found a new abode,
    leaving me alone on the grave of
    fireflies flowered with all the unsent
    letters I wrote in your name.

    ~ When hearts get shattered
    and hopes don't matter,
    Everyone becomes a poet.

    _firefly

    Title inspired from a poem called this is not a love poem.

    #end #cliche @writersnetwork thank you ji ^~^ #fireflywn

    Mujhe pehle jaise likhna hai ye kya krri hu mai ;-;

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  • _firefly 5w

    #haynaku #wod @writersnetwork thank you so much��❤ #fireflywn

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    Poetry
    flows in
    my rumbling veins.

    Serenity
    filled sunsets
    take me home.

    Love
    lost among
    my journal's pages.

    Ink
    fading away
    into bleak abyss.

    Autumn
    smells like
    your withering smile.

    Melancholic
    melodies bring
    back painful promises.

    _firefly

  • _firefly 7w

    #patheticfallacy #wod @writersnetwork thank you ji�� #fireflywn

    This was prompt by my teacher ~ value of father son relationship. Idk if I've done justice to it.

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    My Father was a Poet.

    Beneath the golden sun, shining
    just like the yellow sapphire ring,
    in my index finger, a family heirloom,
    I sit here alone on our favourite
    bench, surrounded by daffodils,
    your pale hands planted last summer.
    Dad, it's spring now, when will your
    footsteps echo in our garden again?
    When I was just five winters old,
    you bought me a plum colour bicycle,
    for your thin shoulders were tired of
    carrying me to the amusement park.
    Dad, today my son is the same age
    and demands the same gift for himself,
    but I deny, for heavens took your
    pious presence away from my hands,
    and I'll make sure that he doesn't sit
    alone like me, some thirty years later,
    to reminisce about the days unspent,
    or giggles that faded away with time.
    I know I wasn't the ideal son like you were
    for grandpa, we always stood at two
    opposite ends of the emotional road,
    but you repeatedly forgave my mistakes
    and failures and accepted me with
    all the love in your heart, curling me
    inside your vigorous arms and that
    warmth is the true essence of our bond.

    ~You are the Helios, riding a chariot of
    hopeful metaphors in the blood running
    in my veins and I am your patriotic worshipper.

    _firefly // Poetry is a stronger bond than blood.

  • _firefly 7w

    It is a new moon again and my heart remains darker than the vast expanse of starless sky. The scent of hope in the air is absent and there is nothing except silence, screaming ferociously in my ears. Hopelessness and agony festers in my blood, where once resided beguiling metaphors which are now lying dead beside the dried lilies I forgot to water. The soul of little girl inside me is hiding behind my writing table since eighteen autumns, for no one ever heard what she felt. The demons named loneliness haunt me till day, for I remain misunderstood and unaccepted. My eyes have never acquainted the sun for I live in a dungeon covered in cobwebs of melancholy that my existence brought me. A poet once visited me and wrote a poem for me and it was filled with piercingly painful tears of his. An artist once visited me to paint me on his canvas but ended up with a jet black colour oddly splashed over it. A yearning lover of mine once visited me and brought me lavender cologne which is till date kept in a wooden box beneath my shabby wardrobe. My fingernails are festooned with dejection and the little butterfly of mine is fluttering for life in the glass jar. It tells me about it's colours drawn from the beautiful rainbow and it yells at me for picking up the quill, for a poet is always born out of a similar kind of throes like mine. I am unknown of what poetry looks like, but she tells me it exactly looks like me.

    _firefly // Pain ~ demands to be felt.

  • _firefly 7w

    In the dark days, she carries a
    light in her slightly wrecked wings,
    flying high above the borders of
    all the pain my heart has endured,
    turning the deepest ocean blues
    into the holy sunset's saffron.
    Her scent of musk like from the
    navel of the deer, alluringly
    draws hope from the rainbows,
    and the peace spread across her
    glowing face with the crimson lips,
    bewitching the seer and wiping the
    melancholy residing in their hearts.
    Her heart imprinted by the wolves,
    and her brave hands kind enough to
    dress other's wounds before her own.
    Beguiling metaphors painted in her eyes
    captivates poets to write sonnets and
    verses to embellish her transient life
    with never ending poetic delicacies.

    _firefly

    #wod #love @writersnetwork thanks ❤ #fireflywn

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  • _firefly 8w

    The sky collapsed above my head
    and all the stars broke and bled white,
    painting fog in the October's twilight.
    My heart kept concealed inside the
    hidden drawer under my writing table
    along with all the shattered things
    your forgoing footsteps left behind,
    started oozing all the crimson pain
    caused by your irreverence towards
    my pious affection for my scarred skin.

    The metaphors fell out of my poems
    and all the words broke and bled black,
    painting bleakness over creamy ceiling.
    My poetries written above olden paper
    parchments, laid on my dusty bookshelf
    trapped inside the labyrinth of cobwebs.
    Blasphemous wind swept me off my
    frail feet, reluctant to walk another step,
    infected with pyrexia and hopelessness,
    under the dawn, rusted with forlorn
    presence of affliction and so (deeply) cold.

    /pain is reborn inside my healed scars,
    it must be october,
    bringing back the unkept promises
    and incomplete forevers./

    _firefly

    #end #wod @writersnetwork thank you ❤ #octoberc @writersbay #fireflywn

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  • _firefly 9w

    Poetry is a time #travel (ler) .
    #wod @writersnetwork ���� thankyou ♡
    #fireflywn

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    /where lies pain, poetry finds it's way back to that place/

    On a clement sunday afternoon, when a poet is born inside the bones of a heartbroken lover, or a flawed orphan with emotional agony, a similar kind of pain sears through their blood, like it did in Plath's. The royal ink, running above the pages of the sunlit journal, emanates the scent of withered flowers. The thoughts voyaging inside raging minds, are preserved beneath the aching crevices of their chests.

    Time slips away from the clutches of frail human hands and piano forte kept in the theaters ruptures and the human body is left bereft of all the flesh and blood but the pain floats in the air, travelling through the paintings of a mad artist or poetries of an insane poet. Sometimes people create things that leave convulsing chasm in one's subconscious and we can't help but wonder about how fond that person must've been of following the deep imprints of pain left by his predecessors.

    /poetry is the eternal expression,
    through which poets mourn
    over the sorrow of their mortality/

    _firefly

  • _firefly 9w

    /your eyes met mine and love was born/

    you once told me,
    under the beautiful rising sun,
    to never hush away the silent
    butterfly caressing my cheek,
    for it embellishes my simplicity.

    you once told me,
    among the cool shady breeze,
    to let my hair flow over my face,
    and close my innocent eyes,
    for it embraces my freedom.

    you once told me,
    below crimson azure crimping the sun,
    to never hide my agony,
    behind the veil of my smile,
    for it celebrates my battle wounds.

    you once told me,
    beneath the star-filled night,
    to let the fireflies adorn my heart and
    hold your hand while you recite poetry,
    for it decorates our eternal love.

    /you once told me under the mistletoe that you love me and those words are still etched in my memory/

    _firefly

  • _firefly 11w

    Beauty

    Beauty is upon you like the hidden stars
    behind the veil of eye catching city lights
    draped around the noisy surroundings
    of the streets, who are insomniac.

    Beauty is upon you like the stale flowers
    which lie unchanged in the glass vase,
    on the oak wood table in an old poet's home
    whose mind isn't metaphorical anymore.

    Beauty is upon you like the truth which
    this liar world is yet to know about,
    but will be divulged only by it's true seeker,
    whose awakening will happen on the death bed.

    Beauty is upon you like the sanguine hue
    drawn from the melancholic sunsets,
    pouring golden scent of hope upon the
    darkest parts of our souls, our hearts.

    Beauty is upon you like the serene of a
    mountain view, from the top of the hill,
    while tolling the church bells and hailing
    god to show mercy upon the doomed.

    Beauty is upon you like the scent of
    butterflies and fireflies in my candle lit
    evenings, where I lay on the holy grass
    gazing at the snow like glittering moon.

    Beauty is upon you like the poetic devices
    embedded in Neruda's sonnets and
    Shakespeare's ballads, which inspired
    Bukowski, Plath, Austen and me,
    to scratch our skin and write with our blood,
    for beauty is upon you like unwritten poetry.

    _firefly

  • _firefly 11w

    Remember that shining moonfull night, with a blanket of stars wrapped above our heads when you brought me flowers and we danced together on some low melodious tunes from your grandfather's gramophone record. In your hazel eyes, I could see a love brimming all over your soul, and it was for me. Your smile was the most beautiful demilune which made your face shine like a firefly. The garden around was decorated with night blooming jasmines, scenting our love with their flourishing fragrance.

    /Those were the times I mattered to you. The times, when I looked into your eyes and saw my face shining inside them, because of your presence. The times, I was happy./

    But as all beautiful beginnings have a tragic end, so did we. Ours was the story, that novelist wrote in his book, imprinted in golden agonizing fonts. 'Stay' was my favourite word and 'It's time, I must go' were yours. That moment between saying goodbye and leaving seemed to be infinite. My tear stained cheeks, rested upon your shoulder and that was the last sanguine sky we saw together. I held your arm, strongly, not willing to let you go, but you had to, so you did. You turned your back towards my face and didn't look back, as if not looking back meant, you care, and you'll care forever.

    /I love you as liars love to lie. I love you as all the mothers love to keep their pain hidden. I love you as I will never see you again and I love you as I'll see you everyday./

    _firefly

    Love ain't my genre anymore. This is lame.
    I love you as ~ inspired by Lemony Snicket

    #combination #wod @writersnetwork thank you❤ #fireflywn

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  • _firefly 11w

    #start #wod @writersnetwork thank you for the fourth time in a row����
    #fireflywn

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    Autumn

    (When) the leaves turn brown,
    as a little wilted autumn girl,
    stains the wind with her presence,
    all the fresh scent fades away
    and the gentle rustling takes over,
    butterflies frown over withered flowers,
    yellowness spread across the scene,
    her beautiful brown hair cascade slowly,
    As her little feet step towards
    burbling brook, painted sanguine,
    reflecting the crimson sunset dripping
    down small drops of golden hope,
    all across my rusted stale garden,
    And wind juggles around,
    flowing the reddened maple leaves
    in my neatly folded legs,
    I touch them gently as she draws near,
    opening my palm with her pale fingers,
    she holds my hand gently,
    telling me about her lost childhood,
    and I stare into her curious amber eyes,
    looking just like the willow trees behind,
    she sprints around me, liberally,
    kissing away my doubts and fears,
    she sips chamomile tea with me,
    giggling about how everyone adores her,
    she tells me she'll visit me every day,
    till the cold alluring snow starts falling
    from the starry heavens above,
    she sits close by maples and poplars,
    As I get up and walk away from her,
    towards my house, leaving a window open,
    without lighting the usual scented candle,
    to inhale the homely fragrance she emanates,
    while she sings sweet lullabies for me to sleep.


    _firefly

  • _firefly 12w

    The pain I hide behind the curtain of my smile grows fonder every evening when the dusk steals the light from my sky. A white cresent like chandelier hangs lonely in the dark blueish ceiling above. I stare at it, without blinking my eyes, from the high window on the west wall of my candle lit, lavender fragrant room. I see myself written in the dimly shining stars fathoming constellations, which stare at my drought garden, with hopelessness. I hear my name from the fluttering pages of my yellowed journal. Between those pages, I find a church with broken cupola, flowing with a stream of metaphorical verses called poetry, and I enchant them like prayers. The words seem to be crawling closer, ensnaring me in the endless palpitations of my throbbing heart. Melancholic rhymes crawl under my skin, searing, aching, leaving deep wounds, out of which golden blood oozes out, dripping from my fingertips. My eyes close, slowly and involuntarily, I feel some liquid like substance running down my cheeks, but I let it be. I drown into my dreams, diving deep into poetries, who are still calling my name, and I'm running behind their voice. At last I reach them, I touch them with my shining frail fingertips and they assimilate in my chest, behind my breathless heart. I open my eyes and see the whitewashed walls of my room, stained with my tears and a butterfly caresses my cheek, giving me another day to breathe.

    _firefly

    @_elixir where are you!!

    #ensnarec @writersnetwork I'm grateful �� #fireflywn

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  • _firefly 12w

    Once when I was young and flower-like,
    nurtured in my mother's garden,
    which bloomed with sunflowers,
    and she bequeathed it to me
    while she breathed her last,
    because for her I was always
    the little golden girl whose hair
    she combed and festooned with lilies.
    Today, my photo album tumbled down,
    from my creaky wooden shelf,
    and the air filled with the scent of dust,
    I blew from it's face to open it,
    I stared down at pictures of me and her,
    with fainting smiles and giggling eyes,
    but there was one, with my eyes swollen
    after crying for hours because
    my mother was consumed by the darkness,
    she kept hidden under her side of the bed,
    for she never battled her demons,
    and went away veritably scarless.
    Another one was of the blue sky,
    tainted with crimson clouds formed
    with blood evaporated from my wounds
    gifted by my lovely mother, who left me
    lurking and finding the spring in the fall,
    where stale flowers, the ones I planted within
    the crevices of my broken soul,
    with a wish to be like my mother,
    smell like light and stay away from darkness,
    choked my metaphorless breaths.
    As I looked myself in the mirror,
    all my eyes could see was myself,
    painted with shrieking blackness,
    my hands broke the stars in the night sky,
    and my miscarriaged soul lied lifeless
    on the holy ground of my mother's garden,
    with wilted flowers and dead butterflies around.

    _firefly

    #once #wod @writersnetwork thank you ❤ #fireflywn

    @the_lost_melody ;)

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  • _firefly 13w

    It was quarter past two and I was finding words, scraping the ashen cinders under my rusty fireplace, emanating grey smoke draped in silence poisoned by my breaths. I stared into my heart, adorned with the crown carved out of pain and delicate flowers I beaded together with my frail fingers. The trunk stowed beneath my wounds, opened, revealing bows and arrows, which once I used to protect myself from the cruel world, but those are no longer useful, for I am my own enemy. The air filled with the scent of my decaying soul, entrapped deep within the unburied pasts I carry within my chest. Searching for a tinge of poetry and metaphors, I touched the abandoned art, drawn on the walls of my room and it blacked. I touched the poet's jasmine planted under my window sill and it withered. I touched the cherry little butterfly, fluttering on my gold nib quill and it fainted. I touched my old written poesies and proses and the ink evaporated, leaving both the pages of my journal and my face empty. Scrounging, I found a bundle of unsent letters under my bed, stamped with my tiny cursive signature. Slowly, I untied the knot and found myself hidden between those words, and suddenly there came a strong whip of wind, sweeping and scattering all of my letters, written by my poetic self to my paranoid self. I put my hands on my ears trying to avoid the darkness and loneliness around me, but my eyes dried out crying red (pain), for they wanted this ache to end, forever. Lavenders and lilies grew out of my mouth and as I tried to scream they withered, and kept regrowing, till I watered them with the stars I stole from the sky last night. At last, I took my quill and broke it with my bare hands, bleeding and sobbing, over the loss of my poetry and cremated my whole house out of grief.

    _firefly


    /before i learned civility
    I used to scream ferociously
    Anytime i wanted/

    ~seven, talyor swift

    @writersnetwork shukriya apka ❤
    #fireflywn

    #hyperbole (?) #abandonedartc @writersbay I know I'm late.

    @_creatingworldsthatdonotexist @_elixir @natasha_a @sirimiri_

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  • _firefly 15w

    There is a transparent ocean inside your eyes and a frozen tear on your cheek, that won't melt away for you're made of cold and dolorous flesh in which you stand. The quivering blood running in your veins isn't red, it carries the pigment of fear. Your anxiety sits in the corner, singing you lullabies, to sleep, while you hold it gently and put your head in it's lap for you've never known the address of peace. Your existence is like a wound, that won't heal and you braid a fresh noose, every night, but you fail to leave your body breathless, every time the moonlight falls through your window, wearing the scent of memories, the happy ones, haunting you the most. Breathing anguish, you walk into your garden and witness wilted daisies and their dried brown broken petals, which used to be cheery white in the past days, but those are gone, so is your love for your favourite flowers. You lie there on the bare ground, covered with dead grass, and your eyes heaved under the weight of a hundred days of insomniac nights, in which you drowned in your own tears. Soulless, you stare at the sky, as if looking for a tinge of hope, but you choke on fireflies sent by the heavens to help you, and your muffled voice, remains unheard. The pain struck in your throat, forms a poem, but your hands are too fragile to pick the quill, which your mother gifted you on your last birthday. The poet inside you, died a month back, due to the absence of metaphors in the air you breathed. Since that day, your thoughts went numb, your poems swooshed along the air and your heart broke into a million little pieces. The soil of your garden feels suffocating, eclipsing the canvas of your eyes and they shut slowly, leaving behind your corpse, carved out of agony.

    _firefly

    #start @writersnetwork thank you ❤

    #fireflyec #fireflywn

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  • _firefly 16w

    Flowers wither, wither and fall
    as the autumn begins to be
    replaced by the mushy winters,
    who arrives at my doorstep,
    in a snowy white trail gown,
    her head decorated with
    a small tiara of dried brown
    hibiscus and roses,
    wearing scents of an old novel,
    the one about a perfect love story,
    which travels on the paper,
    and was written by the author,
    on a misty rainy evening,
    while sipping black coffee
    from his slightly broken ceramic cup,
    sitting on the large corner window,
    above his desk, lit with german candles,
    about his old forgotten love,
    with a slightly different ending,
    for his story wasn't so perfect,
    and it ended with the quote,
    'Foundation of all the happiness is pain.'
    Tonight when I see these
    falling flailing flowers
    and gently as the wind whispers to me,
    of that old love story,
    I pick my wooden carved quill,
    the one with a phoenix feather,
    pierce my left index fingertip,
    and write a letter, addressed to pain,
    drenched in my own blood,
    in a hope that one day,
    it will all come back to me as happiness,
    I seal it with my cursive signature,
    and tenderly tuck it inside the right
    drawer under my desk,
    where I keep all my pain
    and unsent letters,
    with some dried jasmine flowers,
    stolen from the cemetery,
    with my only broken quill
    and a little glass bottle of my blood.

    _firefly

    #start @writersnetwork thank you ❤ #fireflywn


    so this is it? One random evening while you're blabbering to your friends about some things, a notifications does it all. It brings enormous tears of joy while listening to Taylor's august??? How is this even possible. I never thought i wrote good enough for a POD.
    To all the people here, and especially my beloved friends, couldn't have been here without you. I wish I could tag each one of you. But if you know, you know. I love y'all
    Thank you @miraquill for this amazing feeling of accomplishment. ❤

    Yee-haw!!!

    14-08-2021/ POD #fireflypod

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    Foundation of all the Happiness is Pain.

    _firefly

  • _firefly 16w

    Once in a blue moon,
    happens the eclipse I'm longing for,
    the one that darkens,
    the moon and my hope,
    And I'm digging the old grave
    of our deep buried memories,
    because they were the remains
    of what we were, and who we were.
    I find myself tracing the silhouette
    of your peachy beautiful face,
    with my frail hands,
    which now long to touch you.
    I find myself looking at those
    shiny, hopeful blue eyes,
    with my hazel ones,
    which now are blood red,
    due to tears and insomnia.
    I find myself hearing the
    faint voices of our giggling days,
    with my curvy pale ears,
    which now are partly dead
    without the sound of your voice.
    I find myself saying your name
    in my every prayer, louder and louder,
    with these rosy lips and crimson cheeks,
    which now are silent and
    have forgotten how to smile.
    I also find myself here in the reality,
    brimming with your absence,
    widening the voids in my soul,
    with this broken quill in my hand,
    writing endless poetries in your name.

    _firefly

    @writersnetwork thank you so much❤
    #fireflywn #love

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  • _firefly 16w

    Tell me what you think,
    when your watery hazel orbs
    acquaint the morning sun,
    sending you joy through
    your olden window sill,
    Are you afraid to face the world for another day?

    Tell me how you react,
    when that old woman smiles,
    whose hand you hold gently,
    for helping her cross
    the cemented busy road,
    Are you afraid to show her your demons behind that kindness?

    Tell me what you see,
    when you see moon's reflection,
    in the eyes of someone you love,
    who's looking at her(moon),
    while you're looking at him,
    Are you afraid they'd leave you alone one day?

    Tell me what you feel,
    when you write your soul,
    as metaphorical poetic verses,
    on a pale torn paper,
    burnt at it's edges,
    Are you afraid of the eternal glory your words will bring you?

    _firefly

    #tell @writersnetwork THANK YOU SO MUCH❤��

    #fireflywn

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