'Little Points,' a poem by me.

"Little Points"
By = sure_as_elle

Little points of heat and light dance like fireflies,
hotter than the hottest star to shine in darkest skies.
Their light a beauty for everyone, but few can feel their heat.
To most, until their redder stage, they may as well be sleet!

But to this humble moth they shine, and fill my soul with flame.
I wish to huddle round this warmth, yet I flee to shade in shame.
I wish to touch these white-hot stars, but I fear a different fire:
The burning flames of hatred rising from the others' ire.

For tis perciev'd an awful sin to even feel such heat
as the kind which warms my soul and speeds my ticker's beat.
And were it known I felt such warmth and touch'd its very source,
even though no harm was done, I'd suffer hatred's force.

Even worse, the heat it wanes when comes the redder stage,
and though they still are beautiful, that beauty fades with age.
Lukewarm the heat of giants red, I've little passion for their ilk,
My heart, it aches with misery for skin as soft as silk.

To watch the little points dance near, and to pass close to their heat,
yet refrain from reaching out to them, is always a defeat.
Tis far less painful staying home, away from such appeal,
But when my soul's in agony, at least then I can feel.