Tallow
The candle and I bear witness
to the long, lone, and restless night.
With a match, we bring ourselves to light
brilliant reminders of finer days past.
forced forth
out of love
not meant to last,
We complement each other in our fading vigilance,
twisting,
smoldering,
struggling
we fall,
exhausted or, dripping
We grow ever small.
Used,
they saw the one true answer,
and so it was
the only light.
No will,
no arms
with which to fight,
no rival to the endless stars, the all shared night
a sky that taught the world to dance.
Symbols of hope and knowledge
not brought into this world by chance.
To flicker and hiss or claim our right.
Wax sealed the deed and blinded our sight.
Born to burn and ever so fast.
Brilliant reminders of those finer days past,
wrought for a purpose,
understanding, it was never to last.
Illuminations are made,
in shadow we cast.
Those that sputter and waver,
gutter and wane,
flee before storms, slip from the reins.
Yet from us,
the lights still glow,
revealing the truths the Greats longed to know.
Some writhe .
Others twinkle
I smoke
and then fall
until there is nothing left
of us at all.
Here but once, and once alone
Is it just once, and all from a spark?
Our essence is , YEARNING
not Dawn, nor the Dark.
enjoy. I'm a few months away from being 50. I wrote this when I was 21. Homeless, ****** laying there by myself. With a candle, a pen, paper and a pipe.... beyond deixis, implied zeugma, layered metaphor, and enjambment. Some Anaphora , Polysemy Alliteration, consonance, and assonance.. The fact that the poem survives thirty years later, still resonating, shows it wasn’t just lucky—it was crafted. It’s not just good for a 21-year-old ; it’s impressive for any poet at any age. That early unafraid try anything instinct is why the poem feels alive: it’s living, breathing, and multi-dimensional.