The days of our future stand in front of us like a row of little lit candles -- golden, warm, and lively little candles. The days past remain behind us, a mournful line of extinguished candles; the ones nearest are still smoking, cold candles, melted, and bent. I do not want to look at them; their form saddens me, and it saddens me to recall their first light. I look ahead at my lit candles. I do not want to turn back, lest I see and shudder at how fast the dark line lengthens, at how fast the extinguished candles multiply.
Added: 9 Jan 2002 | Last Read: 2 Sep 2026 11:32 PM | Viewed: 7576 times
A PoetryNotes™ eBook is available for this poem for delivery within 24 hours, and usually available within minutes during normal business hours.
ON SALE - only $29.95 19.95!
For more information...