A candle gasped for breath
as she hearkened to death.
Beneath it I willingly wrote
the epilogue to my poetic note.
Gradually the candle lost her life
but darkness continued to thrive.
More words I couldn't write
since light had been slain by night.
Thoughts sailed through my mind;
none can be left behind.
We keep running a race
and often try to keep the pace.
The more we lose several days,
the more our struggles leave a trace.
We strive through the street
just to make ends meet.
We cling to the hands of hustle
as we're lost within several tussles.
These struggles we endure
to avoid being prey to failure.
These race seems as eternal
as an ailment obviously terminal.
A struggle devoid of an end-
its a rough road without a bend.
Seems like a rash routine-
a routine ,mercilessly mean.
We sternly stare at hope
and profoundly pray to cope,
in this wide world as wild
as a demon- possessed child.