The candle’s wax has burned down
So all that remains is glass,
All flame-licked and charred black.
Your hardwood floor is aged,
And, as such, it is riddled with dead spots
That cry out as they fall underfoot.
How do you find time to rest
When the whines and the whimpers of
A full-blown symphony surround you?
After a particularly harrowing vision
You roll onto your side
And reach for a scratch pad and pen.
As you scrawl what you saw
In that place, in your head
Moments ago, you’re startled by
That old, lamenting howl.
Your thoughts stall.
Who is there with you tonight?
