pliable paint on the old and cracked window frames of my house
what once must have been smooth and lisse
now aged and browned
the glass sending icicles onto the tip of my nose
breathing and fighting with warmth
while black cotton washes my vision
on the antique chair
on my porcelain skin, sinking into the silent softness
applied to the irises of my eyes to hide the icy blue from shining thru
as the clock ticks and my nail taps the rough surface
but after all this
salt stains on the face of your daughter and granddaughters will not keep the hurt from your bones
while you soar twirling in the clouds like a silken skirt
the sparkles of sadness mustn't twinkle in the corners of my eyes
why feel this sting when you are finally flying?
and when this all will come to pass
when I sit on the chair and pick at the paint on my window
i will remember that every candle is meant to be lit
to give light out and slowly burn for the rest of its life until the end
a candle which is never lit has never lived
and all lit candles must taper
but forever I will remember when your fire burned brightly
and will not grieve how your life gave out light until the very end.
with this. the room feels warmer.
the fireplace crackles.