The Lightning struck darkness-escaped.
For a moment all that stood was truth.
No lies, no distortions, no art,
Fleeting like fantasy
We forgot reality,
Just passed before our eyes.
A truth we beheld,
But could not hold.
If only we could slow the shutter
And see all as it is-protracted.
Maybe then we could see ourselves, clearer.
With lightning as our mirror.
A bolt from heaven,
Revealing our imperfection and earthly roots.
Spirits bound in earth suits.
With Souls of soot and beauty.
Perfect light cast on imperfect beings.
But, imperfection lends a certain freedom.
We're not, cause we're not.
Though we grow, we remain somewhat the same.
Lightning reveals of the subtleties of change.
In a second,
As transitory as a spark,
We go from light to dark.
How quickly we resume.
Maybe it's best
We don't stand, Staring at something
more brilliant than the moon.