My Candle is the Low One
Standing in the ashes falling,
Existence in your arms.
Light through grey is grey.
What color would the light have been?
What color should it be?
“Ivory and gold!” comes the cry.
Some hearts reflect the river, some the sky.
The softness of forgetting is lost
To the scrawl of the learned man.
How do you stop the pendulum swing
When hard earned blood runs dry?
As an arsonous flame to the school of thought,
Clouds of broken chaos breaking;
My candle is the low one--
I’ve been burning it.
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