Flashlight (Petrarchan Sonnet)

She cowered in the corner, darkness spread about her.

It snarled and laughed and sneered and screamed.

She had already tried to remain composed, but then deemed

that she was too frail and broken; anyone could concur.

Something rolled over. The strange noise made the darkness stir.

She sniffled, tears rolling off her cheeks, because it had seemed

that all hope had been lost. Until this silver flashlight gleamed

in the darkness. She was about to grab it, with a hint of demur.

When she finally gave in and snatched the silver lamp,

she flicked it on, pointing it to the darkness.

The light made a path for her and she blinked.

Her hands, which had held tears, were no longer damp.

Her life had been in disarray, but the light had untangled the mess.

She smiled for the first time and gone was the darkness, extinct.