he sits up on the edge of the bed
and wonders what his soul looks like.
He’s never seen it himself, but other people do,
when he makes them laugh or causes pain.
No one will describe his soul to him,
so he imagines a green light hovering – a tiny
beacon in the air – just there in the center
of the room. It follows him everywhere,
retreating to safety when he’s angry,
looking out windows while he speaks.
He should be ashamed. So long now
since his soul was put to use.
When the moon sets and the sun appears
to lead us through another day of plague
and fear, the little light that woke him up
will flicker there and fade away.
J. Kyle Kimberlin
Creative Commons Licensed
Nice to see you’re posting again after you took a break. I was out walking last night on a dark trail away from city light. It was amazing all the stars, red Mars, and the stripe of the Milky Way. If I was a poet, it would’ve inspired me in unexpected ways.