Aging
The candle
light
flickers
a thin
plume
of smoke
rising
like a soul
ascending
into the mystery,
which today
we’ll call
heaven.
Its body
depleted,
nothing
but a puddle
of wax
cupped
in the palm
of an old
chipped
saucer.
The flame,now
invisible,
made
darkness
tolerable.
Its presence,
which made
your face glow
full of
love
and tenderness
has been
freed. It
traverses
the cosmos
at one hundred
eighty-six
thousand miles
per second
for eternity.
Do not
mourn
for me.
Author: Tom Lagasse
Photo: Annette Sousa on Unsplash
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