The Candle

In a small room, in an abandoned farm house, deep in the heart of Africa, burns a candle.

An ancient candle of memories, drawing me back to that time, that place, that me, with invisible hands.

I must blow out this candle. This dark candle that’s dripping its sticky wax into my present life.

Making me see nothing of the now but only the shadows of the past its menacing light is casting.

I will light a new candle, in the here, the now, this joy, this life, this me to guide me to tomorrow.

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