I am tattered and worn through
I am tangled and distracted
All of my strings have become loose
My body is a knit jacket

Hang me on rusty metal hooks
I'm filling in your hollow shelves
Replacing every antique book
But he only cares for himself

I can't sustain my perfect shape
Because you kindle a fire
I'm a candle, melting away
And all I ever feel is tired

But everytime you hold me
My sleeves intertwine with pale skin
My thoughts are slowly unfolding
Now I'm ready to let you in

The chill in the frigid night air
casts tremors of lingering shadows
upon an ancient windowsill
where a liquescent candle’s glow dims.

Peering into shattered mirrors’
silver hued jagged edges
that no longer reflect counterfeit images
a nascent paradigm unfurls in the wind.

Terrifying diminutive steps are taken
in directions au courant
enabled by years of refinement
in torrid near incessant fires.

An excrescence of wisdom
has broken the weathered mold
allowing a senescent wisdom
to shimmer a phosphorescent glow.

The venerable map leading
to this transcendent destination
is not read but perceived
through intuition’s faint whisperings.

©2015 janetaylor

And beneath the mask...
There was naught but a hole,
Dark and endless
Hanging embers flickering
Then...
Then death had his way

I gave a flame to the leaves,
and watched it caress the branch.
It burned through the hard green candy,
and fed its addiction with the peeling bark.

I couldn't understand how something could look so enticing,
yet use its power to mute the most grounded of screams.
Nature was a ****** and a murderer.
It replenished and destroyed.

The flame vanquished the poor shrub,
Eating away the hope of ever growing, and I realized;
We lived by nature, we lived for nature.
We are nature and nature is us.

We destroy ourselves with our combustible flames,
melting our bodies like wax candles in a wooden cabin.

Lighting a candle before my bedside,
I slip a small piece of my past
underneath the brass holder
to catch the waxy overflow.

A pink envelope addressed to
(my love)
encases the torn and tattered teardrop-filled
piece of stationery paper.

Your words mush together with the
slight scent of beeswax and sage
and my mind wanders off to an unknown place

3 am:
Awaking to the smell of
an almost-smoke
burning my nostrils

burning my curtains
Is this what it was like
loving me?

Loving you was an ongoing river
each rush getting away from me
the second I felt it
while the rocks, the biggest burdens,
stay in place,
unmoved, unsolved

The light of the candle flickers
as I watch the fiery masterpiece
flow over the room

I lit the candle before my bedside.
I knew the consequences,
repercussions
of loving you.

Like one single candle can light up a dark night,
one kind word can light up your day.