Candle Light
Every night I light a candle.
Starring at the dancing flame, thinking of you.
You are all gone already.
Too young, too early, too bad.
Always.
Would you have told me to move on?
A soothing thought, but is it true?
I don’t know.
Why are we born at first place
When we have to die in the end?
Or are we born to die
To keep the game running?
As well as the dream?









