Catching Fire
June 29 2024
The flame sputtered, wavered, shrunk.
Emitted thick black smoke
before it died,
leaving behind
a pile of melted wax
and a cinder wick curling up,
too brittle
to carry a flame.
What made me imagine
I could rekindle the candle
revive the romance?
A failed affair,
abandoned
long after we should have
even back when it was fresh.
Nostalgia
is a badly focused lens
that softens the past
selectively forgets.
But desire smoulders
longing glows,
so even in darkness
I can't help but imagine
the gutted candle
hotly ablaze.
A match may be struck
sparks might fly,
but there is nothing to catch
no flame to light.
No comments:
Post a Comment