A light ever so bright,
And a kind of white.
Gives something dark,
Darker than the murk!
And ends up dying,
With all wax drying.
Will my candle glow?
Until the day I blow?
Oh my dear, it hurt!
A candle with the heat!
Why would it burn,
Like it is a furn?
Why should a rose be
The one with the thorns?
Why can't it be free
Of all these horns?
Are they to pierce the one
Who will forever love?
Yet, we all are humans;
The ones with the souls.
Souls that are hollow,
Waiting to be hallow.
Yet filled with love
That makes us a slave.
My heart skips a beat;
Who would've thought?
If thou art an angel,
With such good heart,
Why should you, be the one,
The one of the death?
Dedicated to the angel of death.
