Candle

There's a slowly burning candle of time
Glowing, so sure of itself, ripe in its prime
Proud, it only sees the world in its own light
Unaware, wax gathers at base, each night.

The soil looks on, getting heavier each day
For once the candle is done, it'll only be clay
Two souls, burnt out, in darkness, in embrace
Two souls, poetry and prose, life and death.