Requiescat in pace

MomSeven billion flames flicker in the night. Some burn bright and fierce, some soft and steady, some jump and dance. Every turn of the world, 350,000 tiny new flames begin to shine.

And 150,000 go out.

A flame that always lit my world, always warmed me, always guided me, no longer illuminates my dark.

My mom. 1924-2014.

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

About Wyrd Smythe

The canonical fool on the hill watching the sunset and the rotation of the planet and thinking what he imagines are large thoughts. View all posts by Wyrd Smythe

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