The last candle
Close to him there is wind brewing, it's cathartic it's inevitable it's taking a toll on him
His heart's throbbing, the serene picture he thought he painted has been smudged, withered.
Just like his despair there is a growing puddle of wax from the slow melt of the candles, spread across the mantle of fireplace. His ethics, morality made him believe a happy soulful life is his prerogative, his perpetual belief in virtuousness led him to disappointment.
There is faint creaking melody from the rocker, there he lies gazing at the wax sticks burning dancing upon his whimsical nature. The room was brimming with the smell of fumes of his defeat. The candles were slowly kissing the mantle melting into the void that is his heart. His notions of romanticism, endearment were subjected to true test of time. Six he counted a while ago, one is spearheaded, two of them inching towards the pending doom. One is slowly being peeled revealing the wick, his soul. And the other two are fighting against their true nature.
It's the wee hours, there is darkness everywhere, one can harken onto the wick burning. The spearheaded is holding onto faith; it's petite flame wavering, playing with his shadow giving him hope and hustling it back. The rocking has stopped and out there it's a lull. His mind wonders whether he is reading too much into things. Whether there ought to be a fleck for him, whether this might be an unceasing state of affair. His hearts pacing, it's unnerving he hasn't felt this way before. His whole world is topsy turvy, insomnia and anxiousness are guiding his way. He stays there Immobile, the clock has almost dropped both it's hands, the candle is about to die, just like all his hopes and dreams. And amidst all this a stray ray maculates his face peering through the leaves and branches and urges him to arise, to take a step forward and believe in godliness in humanity in understanding and look towards the candle, it has paved the way for a higher force, and now the wick is red and is slowly turning BLACK.
His heart's throbbing, the serene picture he thought he painted has been smudged, withered.
Just like his despair there is a growing puddle of wax from the slow melt of the candles, spread across the mantle of fireplace. His ethics, morality made him believe a happy soulful life is his prerogative, his perpetual belief in virtuousness led him to disappointment.
There is faint creaking melody from the rocker, there he lies gazing at the wax sticks burning dancing upon his whimsical nature. The room was brimming with the smell of fumes of his defeat. The candles were slowly kissing the mantle melting into the void that is his heart. His notions of romanticism, endearment were subjected to true test of time. Six he counted a while ago, one is spearheaded, two of them inching towards the pending doom. One is slowly being peeled revealing the wick, his soul. And the other two are fighting against their true nature.
It's the wee hours, there is darkness everywhere, one can harken onto the wick burning. The spearheaded is holding onto faith; it's petite flame wavering, playing with his shadow giving him hope and hustling it back. The rocking has stopped and out there it's a lull. His mind wonders whether he is reading too much into things. Whether there ought to be a fleck for him, whether this might be an unceasing state of affair. His hearts pacing, it's unnerving he hasn't felt this way before. His whole world is topsy turvy, insomnia and anxiousness are guiding his way. He stays there Immobile, the clock has almost dropped both it's hands, the candle is about to die, just like all his hopes and dreams. And amidst all this a stray ray maculates his face peering through the leaves and branches and urges him to arise, to take a step forward and believe in godliness in humanity in understanding and look towards the candle, it has paved the way for a higher force, and now the wick is red and is slowly turning BLACK.
Comments
Post a Comment