There is a little light shining from way behind her past,
She calls out to it feverishly, hoping it will last.
It twinkles, trances, threatens to disappear,
She’s crying, crooning, crumpling with fear.
Will it leave – leave her soul, her heart, her body for some other place?
Gone, without words, without sound, without some speck or trace?
She will forget, in due time, the feeling of its heat,
Her haven, her stronghold, her last retreat.
Yet, she loves the light with every section of her mind,
And its absence will leave her inevitably blind.
There’s no future for the light, so she clings to the past where memories lie fresh,
And thus it has become irrevocably intertwined with her very own flesh.