A Candlelit Digression



At the edge…

The nights grow darker, the moment colder.

The choices grow grayer, the silence deeper.

The dreams grow paler, the doubt stronger.




We kneel at the edge of shadow, cherubs and gargoyles,

Lighting matches and casting them down like the morningstar.

Watching them fall, fall, fall.


Some burn our fingers, guttering in spite.

Others drift beyond the horizon, sad and distant.

Others flare strong, then fade into smoking regret.


A precious few light candles, floating in the black.

Strong and constant, flaming defiantly against fate.


That is all we hope for, all we hope to be…




Candles, floating in the black.


1 Comment

  1. Oh, my.

    Marvelous allusions here, breathtaking. Very sad, but beautiful.

    Though not without some frail thread of hope…

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