Ghost
Ghost
And the feelings are fleeting,
As the love slowly dies,
Like a candle at the end of its wick,
The flame choking for breath,
Sputtering and clinging to life,
As it slowly descends into the hot puddle of wax,
What once promised longevity and preservation,
Has now become impending doom,
Waiting to feast on forgotten love,
Love is a funny game,
It follows no rules,
It preys on the dreamers,
It preys on the poets,
It preys on us all, the damned fools,
And as the flame flickers to smoke,
It wisps away in a thin pale line,
A ghost of the flame,
That haunts and teases,
Until another spark erupts,
From the cold dark wax,
The flame will again prosper,
On the love as it passes.
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