3 result(s) for Candle Blown Poems.
These poems are completely original - not copied from anywhere. Feel free to use them however you want.
The Last Bow
The wick leans low in trembling grace,
A gold tongue bending, pale and thin,
As breath draws near its fragile place
And stirs the hush that waits within.
It bows once, like a dancer spent,
Then folds its light into the dark,
No cry, no ember, no lament,
Just smoke that curls like a silent mark.
The room remembers what it held,
A warmth that lingered, then let go,
And all the quiet, softly felled,
Accepts the dusk the flame let slow.
The Last Breath of Wax
A candle holds the room together,
its small gold tongue a tender lie,
until a draft slips through the door
and bends the flame to a sigh.
Memories waver just like that,
the warm things leaning, thin and bright,
then shiver toward a darker wall
where shadows wait to swallow light.
Yet even as the wick grows dim,
a ghost of warmth still clings to air,
and I can smell the sweet old wax
long after the flame is gone from there.
Last Breath of Wax
The wick bends low, a bowing thread,
and gathers all its light to spend.
It flickers once, as if it said
a word the dark would not defend.
The shadows creep from every wall,
unhurried, patient, sure of their day,
while one thin tongue of gold stands tall
and trembles, refusing to give way.
Then breath descends, a gentle hand,
and smoke curls upward, thin and grey,
the room unmade, the warmth unmanned,
the last warm spark dissolved away.
Yet in the air a whisper stays,
a ribbon of the flame's remains,
and darkness learns, in quiet ways,
that light can leave but leave its stains.
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