The poet says to rage against the dying of the light.
But what if the light inside is not dying,
But settling comfortably into a crackling vitality.
The fire inside of a soul doesn’t have to be
A wildfire that consumes everything in its path.
It can resemble a hearthfire.
It burns with a quiet intensity without screaming
“The world must notice my pain and outrage”.
It burns without burning up.
This poet says that age brings temperance.
Sustenance is no longer flashing tremolo,
But a plucked melody in deliberate rhythm.
