Friday, 31 October 2014

Lit alive


In a deem of endless tire, 
Sometimes water, sometimes fire, 
We raised as a virtue, tool and grace, 
In a bid to stay and hold our space.   

A toss from a tumble in the sea, 
Instructions to tell, a shrub from a tree, 
The world was started in a clear trace, 
To define just "we" and point "our place".   

Too soon however, a will we acquired, 
To hold a credence with the well admired, 
To furnish, to keep up the pace, 
In a neck to neck and race to race.   

All we make, is damaged or repaired, 
By a simple question of how we faired, 
yet we ask each moment, each case, 
Subject to the evolution of our face.   

But the truth beneath, stays unheard, 
To me, you, the sane and blurred, 
The wick till the bottom of its base, 
Is a candle, when it glows and till it stays.


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