Born to Die

A Poem by Viccy Rogers

'All new kinds of dark to face'

What am I?

I enter the world, which now all seems so real,

I stand all alone, the Earth's air yet to steal,

I light the way, until all is clear,

Summoning shadows, banishing fear.

I stand up straight, I stand up tall,

Then start to shrink, until I'm small,

I stand up tall, I stand up straight,

A pair of shaky hands await.

I am then grasped, with trembling fingers,

An eerie settling of dust now lingers,

I'm carried away, to a brand new place,

With all new kinds of dark to face.

I battle alone, wasting away,

Children are warned: with me, they can't play,

And when I'm shot down; my energy broken,

When tired eyes are not to be woken...

I wait some more, hiding on the shelf,

Until I'm allowed to be myself,

I resurrect into the night,

Glad to be helping, glad to be bright.

I was a candle, my mesmeric flame,

Danced through the black; danced always the same,

But now I am nothing; all shrivelled and shy,

Born to be burned, born to die.

© 2013 Viccy Rogers

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Reviews

misha

A dark and haunting piece indeed. Great write!

Posted 10 Years Ago

10 Years Ago

Thank for reading!!

Wolfwind

A wonderfully writen darker flow of ink. For me this piece is a mixture of two themes. The analogy that the life of the living is akin to that of a candle, burning brightly for a while and then burning out, either because the wax burns up, or because an opposition has guttered it's flames. The second vision that comes to me in these words is that of a child growing up from innocence and entering into a world that isn't as kind.

I don't tend to believe that we are what the last two lines imply. I tend to think that our candle spark is eternal inside and if it goes out, it's because we've chosen to stop rising up.

Great Ink! It makes one think about our place in society.

Aaron - Wolfwind