For Abigail Travis A small child sits in an empty room,
Few lightbulbs hang overhead. The last lightbulb still glowing, Once a strong light, Now a dimming struggle. They all droop from their cord, As though they have already given up. But one stays lit. Sadly, the darkness around her Penetrates her glow. To the other light bulbs, Already dark and dead, She is foreign. She was never able to Express herself to them. She was afraid to be herself. But to the child, She was the one motivator, To keep going when things got tough. What was it about this lightbulb That made her so overjoyed? She didn’t know, But whatever it was, She couldn’t live without it. When the other light bulbs Saw the darkness next to them, They compensated for the loss By lighting matches and candles. Alas, the once-bright bulb Was neglected. The lightbulbs around her Thought just to bring back the light, Without remembering the existence Of the once-light bulb. They did not appreciate her As lit, They never thought of her, When dim. The child did not notice That the lightbulb was dimming, Until it was too late. Encompassed in darkness, After the lightbulb couldn’t hold on Any longer, The child bawled. She cried not only because She was sitting in darkness, But because she didn’t express her feelings To the light bulb sooner, Before it was too late. The child regretted That she wasn’t able to help. She struggled to think of her life Without the light bulb. Each tear she shed Represented the emotions That she didn’t reveal to her in time. Death only destroys The ones who really know, And love for the forever gone Keeps them crying. -- DeLarge
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