entry picture

A spark lit up
A small, thin matchstick,
Gently rubbed from
A matchbox's wall.

Cursed at the fire
That burns a frail wick,
Drilled tightly into
Candle of false hopes.

Glimpsed the beauty
Of radiance and awe,
A fleeting light
To bleak, weary past.

The dancing flame
Slowly melts and hurts,
The paraffin
Where homeless hope lives.

It brightly shines,
As it ghastly burns,
Softly vanishes,
The candle that once stood.

false hopeloveromance

◄ Captured

That Sunday Night ►


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message