rog's poems

there comes a time
where the page stares back-
a white slate hungry for fuel,
waiting to be etched,
but the passion is gone.

the lead breaks,
the ink spills,
and the drive disappears.

is this really it?

or is this just another chapter
that the author forgot about?

the day will come
where light goes out.

the sun still ablaze,
the stars still sparkling,
and the moon still brilliant as ever.

but the soul
begins to flicker,
the candle inside of it fading
as the wick reaches the end.

and that’s okay.