Stars Burn At Their Brightest
I am the candle flame
which burns brightest
before last flickering moments
of struggling heart-torn life.
Each day a part
of me is consumed
in differing
though measured step.
Burned out forever.
Slowly I am drowning
wick is near liquefied end.
I’m falling without footing
or foundation beneath.
Can I exist a stub
upon discarded altar
of a God who did not see
or answer prayer?
Until dismal day
he deems fit, to clear
waxen dregs aside.
To be forgotten
as I was in last
fitful moments
when life
spluttered out
within me.
I am mesmerized moth
which dances
the most divine
on a starlit night
as wonder
fills the clear
star laid heavens.
Set against
a satin black night
which threatens
to swallow eternally
all within its veldt
stars burn
at their brightest.
So momentary moth
lives, loves, dances,
for an eternity
within winged magic;
of such a single night.
Then falls embracing
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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