RIC S. BASTASA


the old flame is finally gone


there was this old flame inside the house made of wood
it is alive supported by a wick and a bowl of oil

it is a comfort for blackouts and we all look at it with wonder
we keep it from the wind and the rain and it stands still

one day we find ourselves in great grief
the bowl of glass is shattered and the oil is spilled on the ground

the wick is gone and we searched for it for days
someone so cruel destroyed what we looked up to

then the night comes in without electricity we grappled
the house is silent under a sky without stars

Submitted: Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Edited: Wednesday, March 24, 2010

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