(x = space)
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The Gifter
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Something brief and fragile
Like the low candle
Ready to touch the plate,
Run out of life
Of thread and wax to burn
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Who says “brief candle,”
Hamlet or Macbeth?
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Both ready for an end,
Relinquished from the missions
Set upon by ghosts and witches
Daggers and blood
And other apparitions
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That like the dagger
Blood on hands
In fact, all apparitions
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Might be of the mind,
Modern interpretation
Of medieval magic
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A gift of time in time
The gifter having only one
For whom the limitations
Of one time can
Never, never, never, never, never
Be enough
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C L Couch
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And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.
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Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
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red light
Photo by Maeghan Smulders on Unsplash
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clcouch123 
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