unsent draft messages

There’s still a little flame that burns me
A faded light that turns my attention elsewhere
Where I face obverse to where I travel
Though the road unravels ahead
The dim flicker of the old flame kept my eyes aglow
Bends in the road and I stumbled
Fumbling as though blind, though I still see a light
..fading..
the wick barely sticking to the droplets of wax, where once stood a pillar
My beacon once illuminated the sky and now it’s going to cease to be
And I watch..waiting to see it extinguish
In all its diminished glory
The lonely page at the end of the story
The flame wisps and whispers, breathing its last
Yet tomorrow is almost here
And I’ll have no need for candles