Geist of the Living

In every direction

Tumbling through a stubborn sense of reflection; a  false comprehension

A birthday gift for the no more

Candles on the cake

Each of them fake and artificially relit

Dripping, dripping, dripping

No intent to eat it as well

Only to be consumed by waxen shell

And snuffed flame

What present shall be presented in his name?

What piece of life would he live if given the means by a faulted friend?

What care is he wont to have of living or dying,

When he is already dead?

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