The flame died tonight.
I heard it breathe its last flicker
The last pangs of a dying soul
Clinging on with ever loosening grip
To a ground of sinking quick sand
While the dry cold Winds blew
Carrying with them broken crystals
Of dead feelings and lifeless passions.
Rendered rotten by the vermin
Of old habits and senile thoughts
The flame was meant to die
And so it did..