The wick's end

The slow easy flow
of those old symphony records
spinning in place
brings my low burning
candle lit eyes
back to a
long wicked flicker;
the kind I once shared
with the darkest parts
of the darkest nights.
I’ve since been deprived
of the drifting warm breeze
that blew the dust
out of my lungs
when I couldn’t sing
my worries down the drain.
I am now clinging
to a distant
cello and viola
both playing the story
of what once was
or could have been.
Their harmony is sweet
even to these ears.
Alas, it seems,
every ending is too abrupt.

The wick's end

Nathan Emery

Joined September 2009

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