What burns the wick

Once lit by the joy of the innocent

The light of which imposes no ventilation for fear

Encasing all the air in a suffocating evanescence

Darkness shackling the mind of integrity

     forces draw together like a war of the mind on the spirit

Only to embody the fate of the unknown

One end to another as is a beginning to an eternity

That one light isn’t a symbol

That flicker isn’t melting the hope rather time

Dreams fade into distant drips

Facing a pool of destruction and deceit

The wick now at it’s end

The gleaming light that once burned is no more

Dim retention become the ashes of another