Upon the hand hold on to the wick of light,
till the candle slowly feasts on its height,
Oh! that is what death does to soul,
melts away the earthen bowl.
On a dreary day when all was awake,
you went into darken sleep hardly to remake,
any thing worthy or any fake.
I vow to have you walking and awake,
to remember only the silken route,
taken by the death on to the fortune suite,
where it will align not to any witch or God,
But to say recline here as forever lost.
Death has done what is the magnificent cost,
for the beauty to pass into oblivion,
for ever and ever to lie in recess of the heart open.
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