The lamp went dark.

The last drops of kerosene

felt unwanted and evaporated with a

lonely silence.

The flame,

once strong and bright,

grew dim & small & blue &

left with a suicide of

black, black smoke.


And the man

– whose eyes once sparkled gold

in the generous lamp's light –

caressed the dusty glass

feeling the heat of life

fade away &

the cold grip of death

gain control.


He wondered

if the lamp knew…

Oh, how the man would've bought oil

if only he could've afforded it.

But money means naught to

dead men with nothing to leave behind.