The deem wave of fireflies
Dancing in a tomb.
The storm by which you’ve lost
Soft harp of hope,
Fireflies will be there, hovering lightly
Outside those wet window panes.
Such projections can muddy the time
Can paralyze your dreams,
And you keep promising to never wake up.
But the fireflies keep waiting
For replies from the moon,
To tumble down on your bed
And wake you up from drowning.

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