The candle flame is the only protection from the dark.
Climbing up these old wooden steps, each creaking step carrying the weight,
Of steps made heavy by regret and fear.
I no longer have the will to protect the flame
From the cold wind, that chases me with
Whispers of lost paths and loves.
Letting cupped hands fall,
I watch the flame dance in the wind
Frantically fighting to survive,
Flickering and fanning
To face the shadows created.
(C) Manivillie Kanagasabapathy