A buzz circles the dim-lit room,
aimless, weaving through stale air,
where a single shard of sunlight
paints its fractured light on the wall.
The housefly lands on a bottle cap,
sticky with yesterday’s sugar residue,
its wings humming, a microscopic machine
unaware of the feverish hands nearby.
A lighter clicks under trembling fingers,
and the air thickens with invisible fuel—
an unseen fuse twisting toward the edge
of what everything here will become.
When it happens, the room exhales fire,
the glass shatters into constellations,
and the housefly, weightless and eternal,
rides a tide of burning air upward,
its tiny body carried into the chaos,
a brief silhouette against a red bloom,
until it’s nothing, just a memory
of where it might have landed next.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: March 16th, 2026 08:58
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
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Comments3
Gray coincidence is amazing in that I too in todays poem wrote of burning a fly. What are the odds? This poem takes a different course than mine and seems deep in its allegory of ingenuity, entrapment and destruction. What elaborate means we use to rid ourselves of an annoyance and in the process take joy in display. Ingenious and dangerous its efficiency undisputed. Reminds me how as kids we rolled buckshot down a board where a toad would swallow it until he was so full he could not hop. We would grab him by back legs and shake him upside down until he was empty then start the process all over again. Nicely done my friend
Thank You for sharing your feedback I appreciate your support
Most welcome Gray
Vivid and sharp.
Thank You Thomas I appreciate your feedback brother
Got yer!! Though think of the environment .. a fly swatter would have been more environmentally friendly😂
A write rich in imagery.
Thank You Dave
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