Death of a Firefly

A canned
kill, I die so
slowly, slowly,

my light
fading quickly.
Such a young boy,

he knows
nothing of the
fear that grips me.

He laughs
so gleefully
at my efforts

to break
free from these glass
walls.  I see his

pure joy,
a reaction
to my terror,

to my
utter horror
at the prospect

of my
caged death.  This jar
that holds me will

be my
crypt, an escape
proof hell, sitting

on a
child’s desk.  My breath
becomes shallow.

My light,
finally, goes
out.  My legs are

in the
air, my life a
flash before my

eyes, my
heart has stilled it’s
beat.  So little

was my
consequence to
this harsh, cruel world.