my dear candlelight

Heavy numbness fills my trembling hand
As I write my will, towards the final end.
'Tis fire fades slow in the dark.
My voice shall not echo, nor leave a mark.

My light is weary in your trembling light,
Oh, my faithful red wax candlelight!
For when I go please, oh please live for me,
Not soon St Peter's glamour you shall see,
But through love and pain we have as gifts
From our maker, we may never see.
Hard as it could, you shall soon forget me,
For I'm no more than a parasite to thee.
Parasite, I say, truthful and painful,
This life I've led wasteful as a fool.
I have given not warmth to you these days;
Just taken warmth as you melted away.
I have given not light to you at all;
Just taken light I had seen fit for.

Now, as I put out your burning misery,
For when I go please, oh please live for me.
Finally numbness escapes this writing hand,
Darkness shrouds. Thin smoke shines. The End.

- Henry Rogers