Ashes of A Firework
Fireworks? Loud. Too loud.
"You're special, like a firework"? No.
They're frightening. Jumpy. They hurt your eyes as they compete for attention and fame.
No, no, you are the ashes. The way they gently sail across the sky, red embers softly fading, quietly drifting into your hair and settling onto you. The red and orange, stumbling and twirling in a develish dance, only done by angels. Who needs fireworks, when we have ashes?
"You're special, like a firework"? No.
They're frightening. Jumpy. They hurt your eyes as they compete for attention and fame.
No, no, you are the ashes. The way they gently sail across the sky, red embers softly fading, quietly drifting into your hair and settling onto you. The red and orange, stumbling and twirling in a develish dance, only done by angels. Who needs fireworks, when we have ashes?