Flash Bulb

 

Flashbulb

 

A buzzing consciousness aloft on purple gossamer wings,

the color of bruised, star-scar'd twilight,

beating out the rate of comprehensible thought:

I Am

I Feel

I See

Only half as fast as the lightning strike of inspiration

but twice as fast as the blinking recognition of an eye.

Burned reflection in the mirror of my mind

like a white orb inside my eyelids after spotting the swollen evening sun as it blazes a path into night

 only visible in the instance of an accidental glance

at the tree when struck.

Even then, only memory recalls a vision of

green leaves, warmed to brown,

burned to black...

left to die.

Spring instinctually speeding to autumn

then falling prey to a wintry death.

The light still but an enigmatic flare

from out of the ethereal.

The power source never exposed,

for the mind's eye is distracted

by the divine diversion of miraculous effect.

God, why do you hide from me?

 

© 6/2/98