A Mail In Dark Flame Poem by Isaac Morris

If I could have my way
I will Send a mail in dark flames,
From the little spark of my candlestick,
With berg of messages that mouth cannot express,

It's the soundless wailing
of the evil maiden'
In graves little hut,
Which can boil a liter pot
In less than five seconds.

If it's not too late,
let the flame from the arch pot
sail my pains through the stormy rain,
Let it fly in the cold wind
And silent as the morning dew.

Even as I sink my eyes down the orbit,
I see it break through the ice cloud
to get to heavens gate
before the earth quakes.
Glaring it's motion in silver wave,
like the spirit frame I saw in daddy's cave
Telling the angels;
Let my case be raised
And let all pains erase
for God cannot forsake