Life is a flame that burns even
When the stub is short
An artwork that bemoans darkness
And dethrones her from an absolute
From the universal nightscape
To a starry starry flame

And flame is the cynosure of all enigmas
Like the flame of your heart, despite not being a redhead
Burns the phosphorus chamber and the turbulent edges
And constructs a feeling that inculcates
Another life form into the medium of your soul.

And flame is always thread
Until threadbare becomes a universality
Of a withered old rocking chamber
And light fades just at the edge of closure
And you surround yourself with defragmenting pixels
As light turns to ashes

And just like the patient summer night
Death finally comes of age to abdicate her virginity.
As incandescent life becomes a cold brown log
Creeping with filamentous saprophytes.

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