Spark

Poetry by | July 26, 2009

A quaint light

that bore no frenzy fire,
A feeble hope
Like a speck

of cinder dust

A magical trick,
Though not an illusion,
A vision beheld for a splitday.
Like coffee froth

popping upon conception

It was a flashing beam
A fluorescing midnight dream
Millennial ray gun of heat and bliss
Quaint, nearly invisible
A spark and nothing more.

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