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The Weight Of Wax
Watching the candle burn,
I gaze at the suffering wick
Altering it's neat flame and
The direction in which it sways
Dripping wax melts a memento into my skin;
Embalming my palm and the countless paths
That my blood cells tend to.
The feeling is uncommon --desirable--
A warm and weightless pleasure
Stemming from the heat of an age-old trick
Such simplicity, yet bearing the complication
Of time in the spark that postponed it's solid form;
Making me think a thousand thoughts before even
Contemplating the fact that it could burn
And it does so, but tastefully.
There It Is!
Image and emotion congeal in this perfect example of unity - evey word (almost) is needed to form a progression of expanding ideas - wonderfully writting and well crafted, this poem - Loved it! I hear your "voice" in this work as art ~~~~~Lady A~~~~~