I seldom slow down to truly ponder-
Thinking is a dangerous game-
But it hardly takes a second to crave.
(So I do,
Even as someone calls out my name
Over and over, until it is time to hide and be brave.)
It hardly takes a bit of sense
To consider a candle
Long past its time,
Still bleeding out uselessly-
The blind keep urging on a flickering flame
When they should blowing it out.
Someone thought to play a game
So here I stand, ever thinking,
Ever planning, ever falling short.
Ever missing, and ever missing out.
Ever wishing, ever aching,
Ever learning thankless lessons.
Ever seeing too clearly.
I would blow it out
Ever so swiftly, none would notice.
No ripple in the darkness around:
Regression to the quiet.
A constant groan would even out,
Tucked safely into a crevice of eternity
Never to be found.

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