Out, Out, Brief Candle

(Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5) Out, out, brief candle—flicker, fade, A tiny light in life’s grand parade. For life’s but a wisp, a fleeting flare, A moment’s breath in the cosmic air. We light our candles, then they die, In the blink of an eye, we sigh. But what if life’s not a race to chase, But simply a candle in a cluttered space? A spark of hope, then out it goes, Like morning fog when the sun bestows. Yet in that flame, we seek our fame, Chasing shadows, never quite the same. Oh, but the candle’s wax does melt, And with it, all the dreams we've felt. It flickers in the winds of time, And still, we call that short life "sublime." Would we be so bold to think we’re wise, If we knew each spark, each fleeting rise, Was just a moment—no more, no less— A candle lost in wilderness? So out, out, brief candle, you must go, But what we leave behind, we’ll never know. For in your glow, though brief and frail, We danced, we dreamed, we fought, we sailed.