A candle burning deep within.
A flame of ever-burning,
Fueled only by lucid yearning.
I know it not to be a sin.
What of times concerning
That which keeps the flame alive?
Is that what we do in life?
Always, always returning.
Only for a creeping moment
Do we let the waters come,
However an improper sum,
For through it burns our torment.
Why then do we bother
To breathe out this little light,
For which we hold so much spite?
Only to light another.