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waning candle
casts orange light
across the ceiling
the walls, her face
which lays with soft
movements - in, out.
On this black morn
waiting for rising sun
she looks like a child:
no fear, hate, prejudice
lines her face. I imagine
the whole path of life
unfolding in small flickers
beneath her gentle eye lids,
and for the first time, I want
to take her hand, be led down
that path so far as to forget,
so far as all I remember
before her fingers found mine
are those summer country
months of youth; when fears
lasted minutes and a day
was found in every hour.
My heart beats fill the silent candled room,
And as the sun creeps through the cracks
In makeshift curtain, waiting for her to wake,
I cup lightly her delicate white hand
And dream a long, simple
Dream.....
Y
waning candle
casts orange light
across the ceiling
the walls, her face
which lays with soft
movements - in, out.
On this black morn
waiting for rising sun
she looks like a child:
no fear, hate, prejudice
lines her face. I imagine
the whole path of life
unfolding in small flickers
beneath her gentle eye lids,
and for the first time, I want
to take her hand, be led down
that path so far as to forget,
so far as all I remember
before her fingers found mine
are those summer country
months of youth; when fears
lasted minutes and a day
was found in every hour.
My heart beats fill the silent candled room,
And as the sun creeps through the cracks
In makeshift curtain, waiting for her to wake,
I cup lightly her delicate white hand
And dream a long, simple
Dream.....
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What a lovely candlelight... nothing is sweeter than watching your loved one sleeping.
ReplyDeleteexcellent, form and words
ReplyDeletenice concrete poem & endearing as well....watching them there sleeping...i have found myself doing that as well...
ReplyDeleteIn makeshift curtain - this is very nice, that feeling of hope hidden in life. Nicely done
ReplyDeleteCandles are always mystical for me and full of hope...
ReplyDeletei love the way you word shape flowed into candle light...
And what can be more or as mystical..is when the word shapes..
simply come to light..without even thinking about them..as if
an archetype of symbol in the human mind..
i've experienced that when writing about love and word shapes of
chalices..but not yet a candle..but i will looking for one..
Like this one..for some time to come.
To watch a loved one sleeping by candlelight, how beautiful is that.
ReplyDeleteA cool piece!
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely "shape" poem. I especially like the lines:
ReplyDelete"….so far as all I remember
before her fingers found mine
are those summer country
months of youth; when fears
lasted minutes and a day
was found in every hour."
How I miss those endless days of youth. You have done an outstanding job with using words and imagery to share a lovely piece.
Candle light is always magical, and you captured it well. I love the 'Black morn waiting for the rising sun'
ReplyDeleteI relate to that everyday
Very clever form poem and such a beautiful sentiment. I feel the deep nostalgia of those days:
ReplyDeletewhen fears
lasted minutes and a day
was found in every hour.
everything seems softer, gentler by candlelight. this is a tender piece. love the use of "solitary" as the flame.
ReplyDeleteOh oh oh! I love this shape poem! Well done!
ReplyDeleteVery nice, warm and beautiful details you have in here.
ReplyDeleteSomething so magical about a candles flame. The smells, the sights and ambiance, brings me comfort and peace. Creative how you shaped this poem into a candle. Nicely done.
ReplyDeleteExquisite, a gentle, delicate read.
ReplyDelete