Ardath Bey

The glint between the barely parted 
Eyelids first, like distant stars,
Or candles swamped in seas of tar, 
Grows brighter slowly — small, twinned sparks
Fanned by the words a man has started 
Speaking; and though the dusty heart 
No longer beats, the dry lips part
In an awful moan, devoid of art 
Or meaning; he moves; the other darts 
For safety, screaming — it isn’t far 
Enough; more screams; the screen goes dark.