The Light

There was a small
light
that lit up my dusty attic. 
It spun in
spirals and 
curls
shielded by glass. 
It flickered
in the glow of the 
moonlight
one rainy evening, 
and I watched as it
blinked
for the last time. 
My attic is dark now,
and that light still remains, 
dangling from the 
ceiling in 
spirals and 
curls
of glass shielding 
dark.

Reviews

[Patrick O'Neil]

This is alos realy good.It almost like a flicker of hope that has gone out,but left the broken remains behind as a contant remained. Very nicely written.