On candlesticks,
following in my wake,
words follow me
beautiful and adverse.
In the pale light
of a tremulous flame
that consumes the wax
of a small candle.
I am for some,
joy in my veins
I am for others
the last shadow.
For all, I am a dream,
for some,
I am an eternal nightmare
from which they never wake up.
I am the white dove
with which some fly,
I am the white pyre
on which others burn.
For him, like honey
on the skin,
For me, white steel,
nailed to my temple.
But we all succumb the same,
dead, from the black plague
Or perhaps, white…?
Of the same death.
Welcome to this wonderful week and to this, the last challenge of the year 2022. A new opportunity to let out the scribe in all of us, even more so, inspired by the festive season.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank the @freewritehouese community for keeping us active during these three hundred and sixty-five days and challenging us to produce quality content.
If you want to participate in this last challenge, follow this link 👉 A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words.
Credicts.
Prompt Image
Title: CoolText
Banner: Owned by @freewritehouse.
What a powerful poem!
Thanks for joining pic1000. 👍
Yay! 🤗
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Life is like a candlelight
Burn yourself to give someone light.
Gracias por traer tu poesía a los espacios de Writing Club. Feliz Año Nuevo.
Bendiciones para todos. Gracias por su apreciación. Un año 2023 lleno de maravillosas aventuras que disfrutaremos vía online. Un abrazo en la lejanía.
That's really good. Intriguing. Especially this:
Is this the temple on a head, or the temple of a god? The choices make for a very different meaning of the entire poem. I like switching from one to the other when I read this.
Lovely work! So glad to find this at freewritehouse! Thank you for writing with us.
The stanzas are interwoven to describe different points of view, from life or death. The inspiration is given by the image provided, and in addition to detailing the candles, note that the flames lean towards a wick that I consider a firecracker. Well, due to circumstances of destiny, when I was a child, the humble home of a little schoolmate caught fire, he died there; the cause of the fire were the fireworks...
Oh! So the image brought you back to a childhood trauma. The poem makes much more sense now. I suspected there was a death, because of the lines I quoted, but could not be sure. Now I am. Thanks for the explanation!