Remembered world drowned

beneath skies of falling fire.

Dreams of ash laughing

at what could have been.

But don’t despair,

my life matters.

My life will be different,

than yours:

a memory.

A memory of a candle

extinguished

by the howling wind.

A memory that

was.

But not I.

I am

a picture,

turned to dust,

of lies

of lies and lies

that burn and burn 

at the tendrils of love

that should have been.

I walk

alone,

along the rusted path

engraved

with the souls of those

who remembered to say

goodbye.

I believe

An island of wax,

holding aloft a blue flame,

in an ocean of drowning fire

will melt

in the morning sun

like a dying soul.

A candle of darkness

in a universe of light

shines longer,

longer than me.

Suns will darken,

hearts will wither,

souls will turn to mist

on a foggy day,

but I will stand

here,

on the rock

that will be dust,

as a pillar,

a monument,

a lesson,

of what

should not have been.

A boat,

of blood,

flesh,

and sinew,

sails away,

dream catcher

on the drowning ocean,

bathed in falling fire.

A boat of blood,

flesh,

and sinew,

leaves me,

standing on a dusty rock,

imagining

what could have been

and what will be:

an eternal life,

maybe worth living

that

is

mine.