I carry pocket sized chaos on my shoulder,
When living schedules has become a boulder.
I feel a trace of that encounter,
As if placed by a skilled mounter.
I remember when light flooded away the dark,
And everything had that radiant glow.
But the candle wick has been burnt stark,
And the light does not seem to flow.
Yet I remember the sound of that light,
Provoking me against my own might.
To fight that treacherous fight,
To once again see the lighted sight.
I turn to the mirror to find this light,
And I am stunned by the amazing sight.
There is no more of my own light left to show,I am but drenched in the burnt candle’s afterglow.
/* We all have these wonderful experiences with places and people that really impact us . And they all change us in a way. So much so that the burnt out candle's afterglow becomes a part of our own glow. We may not be in touch with those wonderful people and places , but what they taught us lingers , just like afterglow. So , even when the sun goes down , I have a light . */