Fireflies Gone Dim
We waited in the dark,
silent hearts in trembling hush,
until your lantern lit the void—
and with a whisper:
“We’re here.”
You weren’t just a man.
You were myth wrapped in madness,
a preacher of pain with
a grin carved from nightmares,
a firefly in the fog.
You danced in shadows,
sowed fear like seeds in the soul,
but we followed you—
every word, every war cry,
every flicker of the flame.
You spoke like thunder
that understood the storm.
There was always poetry
in your violence,
a sermon in every scream.
And now it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
The arena still sways,
but the fireflies are fewer,
and the dark feels colder
without your light.
You were the monster,
the man,
the myth,
the mask—
and still, somehow,
you made us feel seen.
I miss your madness, Bray.
The way you made fear beautiful,
truth unsettling,
and pain feel like
a story worth telling.
Wherever you are—
in some swamp of memory
or the skies beyond the ring—
know this:
We still believe.
We still let you in.
And we still
light the way.
Follow @poet-stephania-maria for more poems!
