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Empty

The chair creeks, as I sit back,
glancing at the table, where sits my empty glass,
the room is dull, as the light out side,
just the flicker of the flames, to keep me company,
though the fire is dying,
I still stare, watching it fade away,
watching dark consume me, dark all around,
a bottle sits, empty as is the glass,
both on my round table, no wider then a stool,
I see the fire, I see the last of its flames,
with time it dies, as does everything we know,
yet it leaves behind the embers, which continue to glow,
they stay with me, even when the fire is dead,
yet they fade too, fade to dark,
they die, their once warm glow, now no more then dull ash,
steering at the fire place, where in time it died,
enjoying what... I could never know...