Poetry
1 min
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Rekindle
LitCon Calgary Public Library
I feel like depression is that frozen moment when you blow out a candle,
The essence of light that once was drifts away
And you're left with the smoke of your hollow decay.
Dripping dreams will slowly harden and cool,
The burning wax a motivation moved to something cruel,
The sizzle of dying stars as the laughter wisps away
And once again you're left within a darkening day.
But there's still that glow—that light from the embers,
The shining gold of happiness just as you remember.
The dying of your spark, the last glowing light,
The final prayer you wish to ignite.
And you sit there like that—
Looking to liquid gold honey on the tip of a raven's eye wick,
Wanting to snuff out the rest of your light
So this pain can be quick.
Yet even when the light dies out
And you no longer see the flame,
There's deep-seated embers calling out hope's name.
When all oxygen is snuffed and you're drowning on stale air,
I promise there is still fresh love to save you from despair.
And even when your wick bows down slowly to the dark
Cloaked in inkridden night and missing its spark.
I pray a draft of heat will blow lightly back down
To save you from this darkness in which you quietly drown.
And even though your wick is now charred and black-
I know your spark is waiting in the darkness to come back.
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