A soft flame flickers,
azure wax forms torrid streams,
dripping down they go.

Rebecca 4d

The dancer on the candle whick
Has long since faded out
And the orange glowing flames
Have long since been stomped out
Extinguish the warmth
Let kerosene dreams be killed
But the wax has cooled
And is now frozen still

And by cool, I mean bitter cold
CEFord Jan 9

"You look like love,"
she said one night,
cold with the
whispers of winds
on old cobblestone
and hushed
footsteps
of snow-covered
boots.

He stopped
in his tracks,
the cherry of
his cigarette
pulsing
like the colors
of a spinning
satellite
lightyears away
from their newly-found
lives.

"What does love
look like?"
he asked,
syllables hanging
close to his face,
blue eyes
darting
from her lips
to her hands
and back again.

But he knew.
He knew from the first
time he shook her hand
and saw the
sweat glisten off her
brow,
and listened to her
listless stories
of how summer
never truly loved her,
that one day
he truly would.

She smiled,
lips cracking
from the dry air,

"It looks like an
overflowing sink,
fresh with bubbles
from soapy dishwater
left unattended
to waltz in the kitchen.

It looks like ice
cracking
to the sweet smoke
of scotch
and the divot
on the couch that
sinks our thighs
and the thought
of any afternoon plans
deep
in crevasses
we're both too sleepy
to crawl out of.

It looks like all
the things
the world
took from me
and promised
it would never give back,
but instead packaged
in a
candle
bright enough
to illuminate
all the dark places
and remind me
that even though
others have treated me
like a
flicker,
I'm truly a
flame."

Love poetry is hard, but this came out easy.

See your gathered people,
Huddled in a house of stone
clad in bloom.
A chilled aura
lit by candle light.

Alexa Dec 2017

think of yourself
like a
candle.
even
if you
go out,
your scent
will
linger
for a
long time.

inspired by a lingering candle scent.
Danielle L Cook Dec 2017

• • •
once was enough
  to be sure of it -- an insatiable
  desire to be teased laid unknown
  within me, now ignited and stirring restlessly
  and try though I may to deny it, the memory stays
once just isn't enough
  to feel pleased -- unshakable
  desires growing inside, preventing
  my thoughts to see how far I have fallen
  so close to losing myself in the wildness of it all
once he was enough
  I need more now -- an inescapable
  rush I felt from being released of myself,
  of my own free will, of feeling like I've succumbed
  to him and the heat of his touch on my skin driving me mad
once more is enough
  I promise myself -- unbreakable
  I believed before he bound me again and
  took me in his hands to give me exactly what I craved
  he made me his slave and I couldn't complain, I loved the sweet sting of pain he gave

they built a dam of guilt and shame but it was weak and nature soon had her way
Anatoly Dec 2017

Far in this den of flaring links
With jocund ships and dismal streets,
You know by heart those piled up heaps
Of low-browed, beetling roofs.
But for the miracles in store,
You would have felt a little sore.
As chilly bareness falls for snow
To make some fine excuse.

Although the feeble candle-light
Has latent echo, once you sigh
For dreary days, it's still alright
To be bereft of drip.
It changes tune, indeed. Your tune.
The one ghost hummed in gleaming room.
The one that fits ones homeward blue.
The substitute for gift.

At length the sudden knock you hear,
For all delight, and thrill, and cheer,
You'd hardly grope with fingertip
For long-deserted door.
With dark brown curls and sparkling eyes
You meet a stranger, for demise
Is yet to catch you by surprise
With writing on a stone.

Too late to have your fate reversed,
Dream dwindles down into bedpost,
And pale, as though you've seen a ghost,
You scramble out of bed.
Mist loiters near the stirring cold-
It's all the wonders to behold.
The big prize turkey have been sold
In store around the bend.

Henry Koskoff Dec 2017

my fingers
are coated in a smooth
transparent film

of wax
from my own
mini candle

wax is
in fact
everywhere

in the crevasses
the skin
of my palms

scattered
about the thighs
of my pants

because i
have been childishly
crumbling it

unlike any of my surrounding
more mature
counterparts

because
i'm anxious
and sad

the now-desheviled stick
then brings me
to tears

when the lights
dim
and the flame

is passed around
like blessing
and hopes

in the
crisp wintery evening
in this church

the flame
only rises
in silence

the silence
is sharp
like a needle

it weaves
through the hearts
of the crowd

there are so many
and yet
it is silent

and the candle
is now
crying as well

milky fat tears
that tumble
and harden

in thin air
defying the laws
of physics

and everything
is dark and silent
except our flames

those flames
they only
rise

Salmabanu Hatim Dec 2017

My love is as fresh as spring air,
As tender as the a newly born baby,
As warm as the glow of topaz.
It began with honesty and respect,
The first brush of the fingers,
A gentle caress,
Much care,
Trust followed,
The reassuring hug,
Sweet murmurs in my ears,
I glowed.
Followed by romantic walks in the moonlight,
Candlelight dinners,
Passionate kisses that ruined my lipstick.
Every heart beat in me throbbed,
"Love, love, love."
Love has found me!
I am wearing it with a smile.
I accept the rose of love with its thorns.
The Cupid has struck.
I am wired with LOVE!

At last I am in love.My  love is profound.
Poetic T Dec 2017

Though the glimmer of
           evanesce shines aloft..
lighting the wayward
                      wonderers path...

Always remember that below
             every shining moment
that there is always be a shadow
                         under every candle.

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