...as we tread along this haven of poetic flow, piecing master pieces together and engaging our minds one with another to pass messages which otherwise would not be if poetry did not exist...
Engulfed in your wax,
My slender self lost
in the massive embrace that is you, my candle,
My front-end exposed awaiting the flame
that longs to consume us both
Sometimes, when the flame's big brother, the bulb,
is alit in the dwelling place of our master,
And we are hidden in the immense darkness
of the drawer underneath the kitchen table,
I wallow in the fullness of your warmth
Hiding me in your being
Sometimes when the consuming fire
Is crushing our form,
Turning me into ash and melting your desirable self,
Leaving you spluttered upon the wooden table,
I long for the day we were brought together
And fashioned into one
From the honeycomb you came,
And I from the plantation, the land's fame
Never knowing that a day would come
When to one as fair as you I would be bound,
and then the thread in me would be no more.
Sometimes,
When the tormenting tongue of the flickering flame licks us,
Fret not my beloved candle, for you burn not alone,
I am right there ablaze with thee.
Poetry by kip
Read 1290 times
Written on 2006-02-03 at 10:53
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...Sometimes I feel I am the wick...(to Zoya, my candle)...
Sometimes I feel I am the wickEngulfed in your wax,
My slender self lost
in the massive embrace that is you, my candle,
My front-end exposed awaiting the flame
that longs to consume us both
Sometimes, when the flame's big brother, the bulb,
is alit in the dwelling place of our master,
And we are hidden in the immense darkness
of the drawer underneath the kitchen table,
I wallow in the fullness of your warmth
Hiding me in your being
Sometimes when the consuming fire
Is crushing our form,
Turning me into ash and melting your desirable self,
Leaving you spluttered upon the wooden table,
I long for the day we were brought together
And fashioned into one
From the honeycomb you came,
And I from the plantation, the land's fame
Never knowing that a day would come
When to one as fair as you I would be bound,
and then the thread in me would be no more.
Sometimes,
When the tormenting tongue of the flickering flame licks us,
Fret not my beloved candle, for you burn not alone,
I am right there ablaze with thee.
Poetry by kip
Read 1290 times
Written on 2006-02-03 at 10:53
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Kat |
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in'kwa |
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Mono Qu |
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