PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As the embers of the day

Die out along the westward range,

Patches of smoky clouds 

Rapidly rise overhead

Below where I am

There they merge into the black of night moving in

I think of a candle

In my quiet little den

Going out, I needn't 

Close my eyes

Dreaming my way back to the sunset

Then forward to the dawn ahead

But only in these moments -

Wisps of smoke rising,

Wick kissing a wax puddle -

Do I take full account of where I am