Send a Paper Plane to the Gods

In two weeks, the Loy Krathong will begin. 12th in the Lunar calendar, atone for a sin. Floating specks, like us but in the sky. The stars or the lanterns; fault of the eye. To beg for forgiveness to an imaginary friend. Hence the offerings galore faithful until the end. No one has seen Or known our humanely ruin; but we have fantasized. We still have mosaics, delusions, excuses, never considering if they were lies. There is no such thing as truth or deceit in matters like this. Strip away the skin and flesh and bones a soul trapped in a fist. It beats, the fist a prison, and pleads to escape. It tries until it gives up one day, then it is too late. So take a fragment of your essence hold it in the tips of your fingers. Watch! Its pure joy converts into light and its warmth lingers. Once you release it, the light, your spirit, floats in a ship of parchment; you’re too late, you believe. But then a glow slits into your eyes; you made it part of the sky, your soul is free.