by Hollie Fovargue

To be in the dark is
To move without order
And perhaps even contentment
In the knowledge that one can scream
And not be heard
Or seen.
Plain to you, plain to me
One cannot complain.
One was not there,
One was not seen.
Next time, next time…
Perhaps next time
One will be seen.
Like ash after the fire has burned
Like salt once the water is parched
Particles that dance
With grace or none,
Always unseen
Just like dust in a spotlight,
I begin to gleam.