I was not born to do this....

There was this time when he felt like a spark....
There were these moments when he could feel electricity inside.
When he felt like a live wire..

Today, he feels like a light bulb.
There are no electric patterns anymore;
He radiates a dirty yellowish light.
Ever responding to the flick of a switch.

No one really needs a spark,
Not many can live with one.
Everyone needs a light bulb.
Most cannot live without none...

Why then on some lonely nights.
When the switch is open,
And there is a queer calm all around,
Does he long to be the spark again?

And why does the line spin in his head
Barely noticed, but always there...
Like a small old wound that never healed right
I was not born to do this.....