Jun 11
The candle sits
The wax untouched, unfamiliar to its purpose
Like man... created to one day fade.
The wick gets lit… And the dance begins
The flame starts small but grows
Burns with desire, a warmth unmatched
It dances. As if for me and no one else
Unwavering…
With such beauty that words fall short
I gaze… my eyes fixated
They start to burn
I blink… but the flame is gone
The smoke it’s ghost
The smell a reminder of what once was
It was perfect… if only for a moment
The wax untouched, unfamiliar to its purpose
Like man... created to one day fade.
The wick gets lit… And the dance begins
The flame starts small but grows
Burns with desire, a warmth unmatched
It dances. As if for me and no one else
Unwavering…
With such beauty that words fall short
I gaze… my eyes fixated
They start to burn
I blink… but the flame is gone
The smoke it’s ghost
The smell a reminder of what once was
It was perfect… if only for a moment
I love candles. A melancholy story repeated over and over again. For with its beauty and strength it’s equally fragile. I often light one and watch the flame. It gives me solace for all it takes is a wick and a match for the dance to begin.
