They were light dancers. Particle passers. They flit from gleam to gleam.
They charged, supercharged. They played in the playground of plasma.
They were a delight, they were of light, lighthearted, lightheaded,
lightning quick and in fact lingered in the crooks of lightning
strikes, before sliding down the branches. Those not grounded
to dance in the dirt rode the static electricity of soundwaves
to the next cloud to sled the strikes again. They were pure
joy, pure energy, born from impurities bourn by the Second Law
of Thermodynamics: angelic entropy. Always awestruck. Eyes
brighter than heads and appearing bigger, eyes that smiled big,
bigger than their grins. They communicated by touch and so
they rushed across vacuum space to hold hands and spin. They sang
in frisson so appeared fuzzy, like furballs, the floaters in your eye.
They are literally the sparkle in a father’s eye. Beings faster than light,
they transcend time. They pass and flow in aetheric ecstasy, more
or less, regardless of whether there are more or less of them.
They tumble and float. They shout happiness, and they die laughing.
This poem is presented for the Soaring Twenties Social Club (STSC) Symposium. The STSC is a small, exclusive online speakeasy where a dauntless band of raconteurs, writers, artists, philosophers, flaneurs, musicians, idlers, and bohemians share ideas and companionship. Each month STSC members create something around a set theme. This cycle, the theme was “Speed.”
If you are a writer or filmmaker, you should consider joining us.
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