Old Stuff Collection: Candlelight

Candlelight was written in seventh grade. It was another weekend spent at my grandmother's house in Houston, in her forested neighborhood with pristine lawns and ridiculously beautiful homes. Especially in my dreamy preteen days, being there has always inspired me and, in fact, most of my better poetry was written there. I sat at the ovalesque table in her rarely-used dining room at midnight, the chandelier lights dimmed, the only one awake in the house. The poem tells the life story of a candle...and how its life was similar to mine (well, the ending doesn't end on a happy note, but I was feeling a bit down that night, I suppose).

Candlelight

Alone
I sit and watch the shining
Of the candlelight
Flickering before my eyes
Enlightening my soul

Flames
The heat is like passion
I once felt
But as each day passes

It dims

Shadows
The light grows fainter and fainter

As does my heart's glow
The tip of the stem is black
Wax slowly rolls down like thick tears

Shrinking
The stick melts before my eyes
As the fire dies out
In a matter of minutes
The life of this candle will terminate

Darkness
The room is still
And so is my body
No one yet knows the candle burnt out -

The candle that is me.