A Flickering Flame
The flickering flame slowly begins to die,
I watch as smoke begins to gently fly.
Just the little ember in the wick remains,
Like a survivor from the wax it proclaims.
Pulsing and orange it waivers uncertain,
The smoke hiding it like a grey curtain.
I can't blink as I watch it die,
Knowing that its time is nigh.
One day I will be like this wick,
My body wading into death thick.
Some times I feel like it starts now,
To combat it, I don't know how.
Dreams and hope are its fire,
But now I lack all desire.
What does one do when he reaches the end?
Does his life before his eyes begin to blend?
Are all his triumphs or failures his last thought?
Or is it the things in life he still sought?
Regret would be a cruel friend to see last,
So why it now from my mind can't I cast?
Maybe it is there to move me to live and love,
Maybe really it is cooing softly like a dove.
No longer should I complain,
My soul now should sustain.
Live my life so full and complete,
To inspire others it to repeat.
Andrew Hinton's Other Poems
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