Brief Candle Poem by Jan Bloomstein

'As I am, soon so shall you be...'
Calls deep
From the dark well
All hollow and rasp
Rising up as the squall of November leaves
Scuttles across a frozen stage
To scratch out a scarecrow's play -
Its rote players
Rigid to the marrow
And wide eyed, all
With cautious tears
Pulled from dimmed recollections
Of deathbeds past
Where clutched, ardent appeals
And murmured promises
Are mostly forgotten
Or dismissed purposely
So as to forge on with the
Resigned pace of one or
Ten thousand more hours
That fill this time
Until the last moment flickers
Before the snuff -
When debts are paid
And whispered frets
Are leached from the soul