When time runs out and your heart needs to say so much more
But the heart that should hear it is gone now forever
And you are left with a raw nagging sore.
Then reach for your paper, your pen and your candle
And write though your heart it would burst.
No fears now restrain you; no judgment; no mock;
Write of your best, of your worst.
When your soul is then drained of its deepest regret
Then hold your true paper to the candle's clear flame
That thought-laden smoke might reach to that heart
And ashes, a symbol of love, yet remain.