The Flame

Slowly the smoke rises It drifts into air and disappears Was it even ever there? No one knows. The smoke follows the path of the soul: up Up, up, up to a place no one knows. The white, orange flicker lies beneath It's inconsistent but never dies. The flame spins and flickers It tells a tale of passion, love, desire, hatred. It tells a tale the tale of all people, so different but same result. Until one day a sharp breeze blows. Until the flame goes out. Until the smoke makes its final journey. Until we realize how fragile life is and how easy it can leave us all.