The soul dies first

At the end of it, the wick is either cut too short or it’s so long, it falls on its side and can’t stand up, won’t light. And so much wax left, in the shape of what remains. This body poured into a form—this wick, the soul that lights it.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in death, prose and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

15 Responses to The soul dies first

  1. walt walker says:

    Must admit I’m feeling a bit like a limp wick lately. Which is a shame since I do have a rockin’ lighter.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It’s autumn, your soul cries out for beef on weck.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Beth says:

    Wow – this one is “print out and post on the frig” worthy!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. saverisland says:

    I was like that last year

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Sir,I feel the soul is a part of God,athread of the great cloth,It only departs

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Now, I feel like a wick, Bill hehe 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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