The
wind
blows, and
I’m a candle
shine, burning
blue, giving out
light, making
things bright,
many things
except
one.
I
shed
tears
being
dispersed.
Gazing into my
death dance,
sits, someone,
silent, spell-bound;
an unread letter
in front. I may burn
down, or perhaps be
blown out, wondering
what will happen
when it’s too dark to read.
i like the content and i think the form is very clever. "someone, silent, spell-bound, is how i so frequently find myself when i look at a candle. the conclusion is spot on.
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