Candles Burn, On Our Turn

“The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow’r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Awaits alike th’ inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”

– fr. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, Thomas Gray


(On All Souls’ Day, ponder:

We ramble and grumble passing Time
We rumble and stumble in goodtime
And mumble and fumble past our prime
Then tumble to grave, to dust and grime.)

candles burn
on their crypts and niches
our lips churn
some prayers and wishes

our loved ones
inside crypts and niches
we come once
every year in rushes

we shall go
to dark crypts and niches
we all know
each one of us passes


candles burn
on our crypts and niches.

– candles
are between
birth and death.

(c) 2004 Chito L. Aguilar


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