The Light Poem by W H Benjamin

The Past is the night of my existence.
An ancient city, I half remember
With faces blurred by moonlight
Waltzing on Summer nights
Under a shower of falling stars

Emotions replayed as a rhapsody
A Concerto of unfulfilled dreams, wishes
Telling tales of beauty, love lost and gained.
Of the urge to speak the truth, hard, refrained,

Laughter, a Symphony
Played by a forest of wild violins,
Smiles, soft notes of Piano
Like silver slippered ballet dancer's feet
Echoing in a grand old Concert Hall

When I used to use books as my Pillows
Rest my head in thoughts, in packed Libraries
On Spring and Winter days
Sunlight trickling through the windows

When the tick, tick, tick of the clock would mean a lot.

Everything was new, I didn't know
Life was like the flame of a wax candle
One moment could burn bright, light all the night
Leave the rest of the world in shadow

That things could, waver, dim, flame up and turn from
Every gust of a person's passing
One night, one day, that candle's flame would stop
And never flicker or play again.