She stood in the middle
On top, hanging from the ceiling
She was tungsten all over
A mere coiled filament
That heats and glows in incandescence
Sharing her beauty with the avid readers
– Cramming even speedreading –
And the TV box faithful
For she is the sun to the interiors
Who will rise at dusk and dim at midnight
And carry nocturnal creatures
Under her lingering luminescence
When she will burn the miles
And radiate lux – the glow of her metal
Until she evaporates – in small doses
And surrenders to her only fate
To her self-immolation as a flaring super nova
To rise to her martyrdom
In homework heaven.


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