apostrophe
Made of pale wax
Set upon a rusted silver holder
You've been passed from generation to generation
Your wick burns and dances
Orange and red flames brighten a dark room
The white tablecloth beneath you has been scorched from a fallen match,
Causing a perfect imperfection
You sob without breathing and tears of wax trickle down
The mistaken beauty of drops harden
Now the rest of us sit in a trance
Hypnotized by your swimming fire
We stare at you,
Cherishing the low light you give off
And your reflection in the antique mirror the
Wall.
Poetry by kaytee
Read 523 times
Written on 2008-04-11 at 18:54
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Left Burning
Oh candlestickMade of pale wax
Set upon a rusted silver holder
You've been passed from generation to generation
Your wick burns and dances
Orange and red flames brighten a dark room
The white tablecloth beneath you has been scorched from a fallen match,
Causing a perfect imperfection
You sob without breathing and tears of wax trickle down
The mistaken beauty of drops harden
Now the rest of us sit in a trance
Hypnotized by your swimming fire
We stare at you,
Cherishing the low light you give off
And your reflection in the antique mirror the
Wall.
Poetry by kaytee
Read 523 times
Written on 2008-04-11 at 18:54
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
