the bulb
A lightbulb once told me that he was tired of shining.
The zap, shock, and the jolt didn't excite him anymore.
He told me while gently dimming, in only me confiding,
that his grandeur and splendor, he could not restore.
The bulb of light, who's magic he still kept secret
had warmed his last tungsten and shone his last ray.
He had lived a luminescent life, filled with regret
but his days of endless shimmer had slowly slipped away.
He told me in a bright voice that I need not worry,
his days and mine were numbered .
Some last words of wisdom, he muttered ever so briefly,
he spoke, I understood, then his light faintly blurred.
I sat a few moments in the dark,
blind to the world and the world blind to me,
and then the truth quickly unfurled.
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