I see it if I close my eyes.
Some three years past and by,
A man I barely recognize
Left a small flame here to die.
I found it lit, but little more.
A candle waxing still.
But light enough to find the sore,
The hole it used to fill.
It isn’t mine and yet I know
Without it, I can’t see.
What would he say if he could speak?
Would he pass this fire to me?
This light was once a part of me, a lost and phantom limb.
This time I won’t just let it go. I can’t end up like him.
Jacob Marsh 