As I look upon this candle I think of life and death. I think of my grandmother and of Jesus. I wish I could write in a more poetic style but this is what I’m thinking. Each candle is beautiful with potential when it isn’t lit. As the flame burns the wick with such a mystical, magical, mysterious, phenomenal, beautiful light, the candle melt sinto nothing less than those same things. Each candle burns it’s own unique flame and melts into it’s own unique pile of wax. At the end, it seems to be useless but in reality it represents a life. The drops of wax that drip down the side of the still standing future of the candle represent the decisions we’ve made and the turns we’ve taken. My grandmother is a pile of wax whose wick just ran out. But what remains is so gorgeous. There is no one else like that, there’s no other.
From far away, millions flicker
They seem analogous
Fly forward to one, one beautifully lit candle
It is like no other
The decisions we make are the wax as it burns
As it dribbles into our future
As they form our shape, our person
The flame licks an empty wick
Too quickly it pulls away and the wick stays unlit
Too long it stays and the tip is blackened
We need our source
We need our independence
The flame will captivate our sight
Staring until the imprint is left on our eyelids
This is to contemplate the beauty of human life
So fragile it gleams with power
To burn or shed light
To mystify and clarify
Potential is the flexible wax
Standing strong beneath the flame
Our phenomenal energy is the flame
Spontaneously guiding our burning desires
The mold created by the heat does not match any other
It is a bitter joy as the self melts
Into a complete and unique glory
Holding within it a complete and unique life
But it is an overwhelming sadness
When a flame is extinguished