Candle

The Candle

A poem for Cynthia

Sitting within a glass jar
A small waxen wick shows
Igniting a match to this thread of life
Will burn the candle to a flickering glow

The flame will become one of a soothing beauty
The wavering dance of the candle pulsates-radiating heat while bringing light
From fire it burns giving a birth, not a death as it dies slowly…

All created by Us in the night

Almost silent, invisible, wispy trails of white smoke
Rise upwards and grace the still air around
The candle sings in a small voice as it lives
Sharpen your ear…Listen close…Can you not hear the melody of the flame
Pealing out refrains of joy as the candle celebrates its demise?
Or do you hear nothing but silence?
Your heart closed for you once buried it deep underground

Should you puff your breath and take away the life of the candle
Exhaling your soul to extinguish its sight
You shall rob yourself of a pure and good thing

For as a candle that cannot burn…You too will see only darkness and night

JWS, 17 March 2000 12:30 AM
…While sitting here thinking of a candle in the night.

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