The light of life is as fickle as the moth who flies blindly toward the flame. Always flying to close to the sun. The irrevocable fate of mortality - Severed dreams severed hopes. All have been dashed beneath the pendulum of time.
Lingering memories and fading dreams, none escape the constant dirge of life as it presses ever onward, forcing its way through the embittered spirits of those left before they could utter the final word.
When all of one’s life has been lived in the past, the beauty of which lies beyond oneself is squandered. Embrace time for time will not embrace you. Live life not as the candle in the wind but as the raging fire that is nurtured to grow evermore.
A poem by Furrion