The candle on my coffee table
went out just as i finished my poem.
i thought it symbolic,
that wafting smoke sacred,
and the wick slowly loosing it's flame
ominous.
I pulled a little more wick through
and lit the flame again.
I sat and watched it burn for a couple of seconds
envious of that flame, dancing in the breeze.
I'm not sure if there is an explenation,
who can share my flame-like dance,
the way I dance 'til I burn out,
then find another
to ember.