Every time a candle burns

I think of a field in the middle of June

Campfires in the hills of Pennsylvania

Where we watched the glow of a waning moon

 

And I remember the days we laughed

And I remember the days we fought

And I remember the mountains and the rivers

And all the fireflies we caught

 

But those days are gone now

Dried up with the morning dew

And the rainbows and sunsets

we used to watch

Have watched us fading too

 

And I am an empty, hollow shell

where the bones were left to dry

And as my candle flickers on the shelf

I think I’d rather die

 

You see depression is a salesman

And he sells his twisted lies

To convince you as you fall asleep

That they’d be happier if you died

 

And it’s ok to live for others

But try to live for you

Because if you lose the ones you love

It’s what you’ll have to do.

 

So I try to read this poem

on my darkest days and nights

To remind myself it’s not too late

To turn back on the lights

 

I have books to read and songs to sing

And poems left to name

I have new blue jeans and mint ice cream

And I haven’t beat that game

 

And if I die I won’t reach twenty-five

To make that SpongeBob joke

And I won’t get to see cypress trees

Or pick wild artichokes

 

So I guess I can live a few more years

And I’ll find new reasons then

I’ll watch my candle burn away

And recall the days of when

 

And perhaps this poem will change someday

Or perhaps it’s self aware

But I cannot see the future yet

I just hope that you’ll be there.