Candles

 The days of our future stand in front of us
like a row of little lit candles --
golden, warm, and lively little candles.


The days past remain behind us,
a mournful line of extinguished candles;
the ones nearest are still smoking,
cold candles, melted, and bent.


I do not want to look at them; their form saddens me,
and it saddens me to recall their first light.

I look ahead at my lit candles.


I do not want to turn back, lest I see and shudder
at how fast the dark line lengthens,
at how fast the extinguished candles multiply.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...