'We were flowers, covered in dirt.
We were clouds, falling into rain.
We were rivers, becoming dry.
We were candles, burning up.'

When you hold a flame to an unlit wick
It takes an unbearably long time to catch.
The wick is pretty and new,
Covered from top to bottom
In a waxy coating of armour
That keeps it safe longer.

When you hold a flame to a previously lit wick
It catches fire within a few seconds of exposure.
The wick isn't so new anymore,
It's walls have been burned down
It's armour is gone and the
Beaten up wick is vulnerable.

He asked his wife to get her
dance moves on a christmas night.
To twist and twirl like ballerinas
do in fancy ballrooms. To feel
the heat and vibes and create
a spark tonight. The candles flickering flame was moving
from the left to the right with
such an excite. The flames
went from orange to red every
time his hands slid down on
the small of her back. They
must of blushed while they
did the tango as well. They
must of sighed when they
kissed as the carols went
off. He made love to her
body on that christmas
night. When the lights
went dim and the
flames caressed
and licked the
concrete walls.
While the cold
winter's air
touched their
bodies and skin
as they were
exposed* ~

Retype number 3,018--
I don't really think I've written
this many entries for just one poem

it's a beam of light that
scores my thoughts
and begins to type across this board

but in the end
it was a refraction of shadows
hinting at another dream

because these ramblings of another world
are the minds way of scrambling
to form new words
and convey our Neverland
that we've Neverfound

Scented candles add an extra burst
of enthusiasm to wander this page a little longer
because they are my witness
that even Evergeen Woods
have some Cinnamon Bark hidden in them.

the candles are made of wax
and when I pour myself to sleep
perhaps our wicks stay lit
or do we fiddle away
with our dreams.

It's that day today
somewhere years hence
When i was born
Moving on
from grumbling to gratitude
vanity to sincerity
That's when i realize
we're born new each day
with a choice and a million chances
to be better each day
And encounter the perfection that we are
just as we were created
in simplicity and love
so why not celebrate each day
greeting with a genuine smile
friends and family
acquaintances and enemies alike
Blowing candles on chocolate cakes
milkshakes
Instead why not let them burn for a change
as a reminder
of the eternal spirit...

Bells and all assorted pings.
Melodic melancholy meticulously mesmerizing me.
A baritone bleeds out across the flickering walls, intoxication festering with(in).
"Where have you been?"
A bed of boards, a few more knots, remains oddly comfortable.
Rhythmic ripples dig into the woodwork  gripping and grafting, fibrously.
Sinking out of me, in my time.
A little more letting, a little less me.
The cracks running with what's in
b e t w e e n.

Waxy sticks with wicks
Candles flicker in the dark.
They save me from fear