stendec

As I sit in silence, my words escape into the night like a curl of smoke from a flickering candle flame, dancing and then gone. I try to catch them, try to catch them but silent and invisible birds, to freedom they fly. Something is burning, but what is burning? Something has to burn, something has got to burn if there is to be light. But what is burning? What is feeding the fire? And what is left but ashes and a curl of smoke?

You seekers of truth, let me tell you where it is hidden. Do robots dream of electric sheep? Where is Tycho Brahe's lead nose? Who was the Black Knight? And where, O where is Shangri-La? When life burns out like a lone candle, there is nothing left but a curl of smoke. A vapour, a moment, and a memory. So burn while you can, my friends. BURN with the fire of life so that your light may shine on when you are nothing more. Remember that there are no yesterdays and no tomorrows, there is only the eternal moment.