A flame went out slowly last Monday eve.
The hospital bed where she flickered out
Remains untouched as I sit there and grieve.
She was someone I could not live without.
My own flame faltered as I passed the time,
Days without meaning repeatedly came,
A motherless daughter in her true prime,
I was an archer that lacked any aim.
But grief was funny since it came and left-
Like a phoenix born from ashes of death,
I knew I must face the truth of God’s theft
And accept my loss with a steady breath.
Even though my mom’s flame went out that night,
My own constantly burns as I take flight.