Surrounded by darkness
One small candle
And no match
But then what would one small lit candle help of existance?
An hour, two at the most, before it burns itself dry to wax.
For what will be of tomorrow's darkness?
For once awake darkness arrives once more.
Almost to the point of endless sleep, forever dreaming.
Dreaming of the whitest light, one at which to follow into the existance of eternal light, rather than one glimpse for a mere short while, if at all.
But then what if by chance a book of matches is found.
Boxes and boxes of candles and matches.
Will the darkness fade and be a mere shadow?
Though it cannot be real, no truth, no logic.
Just a faint glimmer of imagaination, a wish come true.
For why would one hope of a brighter tomorrow being surrounded by darkness with
One small candle
And no match to be found?
