Yeaaah, it's another poem. I'm sure I seem like one of those saps who sits in dark places with a beret and writes endless and endless amounts of poetry but I swear I'm not! Lulz, anyways yeah. It's a poem, read it.
Picture a candle on a windowsill
Left there by a frightened child
To ward away the groping darkness…
And soundly she sleeps with her silent guardian
Trust it will protect her.
But, silly child, you left the window open.
And you’ve left it to the pitiless elements
To gutter and to flicker at a breeze’s whim
It is so small and so delicate to face that night alone
Because at every leaping shadow, and every gentle breath
It falls against the black and claws back up again
To show the way for who that child waits for.
Each and every night.
A mute vigilante full of solemn faith
That lights a path for the weary
Giving them some tangible hope…
And that child’s fate is hanging so precariously
Each and every night.
Since like that brief, brave candle
Life can vanish in an instant.
Without a single warning.
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