The last flame flickers off,
leaving a smothering charred
wick.
Every blink brings to sight
blue-green light.
The last flame flickers off,
leaving a wisp of smoke.
The warmth slowly fades to
cold
as memories unfold.
The last flame flickers off,
leaving a puddle of coloured
hues.
The tapestry of delight
hardens in the dim light.
The last flame flickers off,
leaving a myriad of shadows.
It hides the echoes of
laughter
for many moons after.
-----
A poem by yours truly. I will forever miss the childhood days of mid-autumn, the only time we could legitly play with fire and stay out late! It seems like the tradition is waning though; it is markedly less smoky and noisy at the park tonight. It is the digital age for sure, but no application can replicate the heat and smell and sweat that comes with getting down and dirty to burn lanterns and light sparklers and just marvel the wonders of fire, light, and the night.