Day 148: Flashlight Writings

The idea of writing and readings stories by a candle light, or a flashlight inside your blanket is always one that fills you with wonder. It makes you believe that much has not changed between the part of you that wants that excitement of writing or reading even in the darkest of times. I think that part of us never grows old and I switch on this dim flashlight in my room sometimes, when I cannot seem to finish what I started to write. A part of me still flickers as the light moves around as I keep guiding it, I sit down on the floor and not the bed and I scribble sometimes hoping it all fits together. We are flashlight writings at best, we are bright when we need to be, and sometimes we sit quietly when we need it too. Just sitting on the floor and writing some more.

Flashlight Writings
Imagine you lock yourself behind the door,
Sitting with a flashlight on the floor
The drips of the sink tap gets louder as you write
And the pencil on the page registers your fight

We are flashlight writings, we are summaries of none
We are stories with no endings, we have hardly begun
We are the wooden panels on the floor that creaks
We are drips of water that you hear, we are thoughts that leak.

We are flashlights that glow in the dark
We are stationary sometimes and change right where we are
Distinct in our own ways, in tones we get to hear
We write in scribbles more often , and in pages that refuse to adhere

I think of meaning when you read my poetry and my notes,
Some spray painted walls with words everyone seems to know
I think of just that random piece, the one I try to complete
The flashlight in my room fades, and in the darkness I end my piece.