because of the wicked flame
that ruthlessly eats at my wick.
It pains me to feel my own wax
slowly sweat down my vertical
edges that have yet to liquefy.
If only I had limbs in which I
could try to keep my wax intact
or better yet snuff out the flame.
When the moon's face and it's
twinkling mates decide to appear
it is my time to shine.
During the day I hide in the cold
and cobwebbed corner in my solid
and structured state. Daylight
gives me a chance to live
without a flame constantly
reminding me of my demise.
I happen to be placed upon a
windowsill that faces a cobblestone
street in London. Night falls
and pushes daylight under the
horizon and I am left to nurture
a flame. Usually, I am gingerly
lifted from my comfy spot and
wielded like a shield.
By a little girl who uses me to
brighten her path up to a stiff
and creaky attic. The space
where she wrote her nightly
journals scribbling about
the day's events. How she
cruelly thrashed at the poor
paper yet her handwriting
was precise.
Tonight, the little girl peculiarly
pulled out from under her bed
a box. I have never seen this
box before and was burning
to see its contents.
She pulled out its guts which
were a bunch of small photo
albums. She took her time caressing
a photo of her with her grandpa.
A tear rolled down her cheek
my glow making it appear golden.
I remember when she used me to
ignite her bedside that day.
How she prayed and prayed
and soaked her bedsheets.
How she gripped the cherished
pendant around her neck.
The blushing old man had
taught her practically everything.
Tonight, her heart ached for him
as she searched in books.
Wishing to recall the joyful
moments she celebrated with
him.
The next night the little girl was
reading an awaited letter.
It was from her dearest mother
who had been out of state.
My glint highlighted the ink
revealing that she was coming
home. The little girl's smile
seemed to beam even brighter
then I. I felt privileged to see
that I was able to take part in this.
Suddenly I realized something I
should've a while ago.
I wouldn't have been there for
her if it weren't for the flame.
Without the flame I had
despised so passionately.
I would be sitting in my own
lonely corner instead.
I have always been amidst a
soft glow. Yet I was blinded
by my own selfishness.
I was simply a stick of wax
but with the flame.
I was a candle that kindled the
girl's lonely hours.
and together we created
something.
Lustrous and sublime,
Not only was my life short.
But also, the many flames
That entered and left it.
Now I feel that my time has
come. If only my flame
could burn forever!
written by
my daughter Rachel
Note: Remember always
God's flame of light always
shines even in the darkness.
His flame of love is a
constant burning in our
hearts. +++
___________________________________
