Dimly lit Alive I stand Not peace nor happiness within my hands. A melting candle is my life. Re-lighting my flame not once, but twice. Below my right I hold my sorrow, hoping to build a new flame tomorrow. Beyond my left I hold my rage locked tight behind an iron cage. Dimmer, dimmer grows the light. Not quite as pretty, not quite as bright. Firmer, firmer it stands quite stout. but slowly, slower my flame is burning out.
Reason for writing:
I wrote this poem in 1990 when I was 17 after a strong bout of depression. It's still my favorite poem, although not brilliant it speaks volumes. It still holds true to this day.
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