Fading Lights
A poem about chronic fatigue
I often wonder how grand life could be if only I were capable of having more on‑days than off. Instead, when the curtain falls when the projector whirrs to a stop and the magic drifts into darkness, there is no guarantee for tomorrow. No promise the lights will come back on, that the reel will sputter back to life, or that I’ll be able to entertain the idea of living once more.
Some of my previous poems:
About Liminal Space Creative
As a Métis writer of short stories, flash fiction, and poems, I explore the grey areas of the human condition where love and sorrow pool together. My stories often blend genres, opening as one thing and shifting quietly into another, because the moments that change us forever rarely announce themselves.
“There is no guarantee for tomorrow.”
The fading cinema metaphor captures exhaustion with startling precision: not merely tiredness, but uncertainty about whether the lights will return when they're needed. That final image leaves the reader sitting quietly in the dark.
Spare. Vulnerable. Haunting. I'M SUBSCRIBING!
I write at The Reflective State, where one of my ongoing series is Mountain Mysteries—atmospheric tales of mystery, folklore and the unexplained set in the mountains of India.
If curiosity ever brings you my way, I'd genuinely love to know what you think.
I really relate to this, so it touches my heart. Thanks for putting it into words and sharing it. It means a lot! 🙏