Love

Question as old as time...what is love? How to describe love...like a candle perhaps? What are life, passion, desire? What are the flickering spark, the flame, and the fire? Read and see.

A candle exhausted, yet perfectly placed
sits center on the sill, evenly spaced,
remaining only burnt and abandoned ash;
her scent and splendor spent, we see only trash.

At one time, long ago, she burned brightly;
Her flame flickered invitingly for all to see.
She appealed to the individual senses;
our minds contemplating her dancing tresses.

She gave and gave 'til no more could be given.
Wax melted, wick wilted, fallen over broken;
aroma straying, slipping into the atmosphere;
luster lost, wafting away like a trailing tear.

But the candle is far from being wasted;
hardly, for she is embodied and completed,
lit, finished, and fulfilled when done -
Her purpose as intended, all creating one.

So is it also with love, passion, life, desire -
the flicker, flame, a sparked match afire.
Colors leaping, springing, before every eye;
orange, red, and yellow each given a life.

Passion rapidly burns upward and outward,
until nothing, no one is left to struggle forward.
She consumes all willing, and even some not -
devouring, conquering herself, wors’ning her lot.

To some, desire is merely fiery, flaming lust;
others, seductive fingers of fragrance’s touch
beckoning, grasping at a deeply rooted longing,
the need to sink into the warmth of belonging.

And life...is life truly only a devouring hunger?
Aroma whispering, pushing you a little longer?
only encompassing confirmation and renewal;
numbing that anxious ache for approval?

No, no, no, and again no, over and over.
Love is all, the completion and remainder;
love is an entire unity at its most fulfilling;
the cocoon, the caterpillar, and lady butterfly.

Like love is...creating a sumptuous cake -
not only the resulting product after you bake,
but also the untidy mess of ingredient mixtures -
combinations of flour, water, and sugar.

Like love is...cleaning a messy house -
there is not only the sparkling from inside-out,
but also the unsanitary past state,
and the possibility of a future dirty day.

And like a candle, all those pieces fit together;
love is not isolated to a fluctuating waver.
Nor limited by the sultry draw of blaze...
it is soft ash of departure - what is and remains.

 

 

 

Author's Note

Hmm...I wrote this about the same time as I wrote "Princess"...perhaps a little after - it is one of my oldest pieces.
No personal experience sparked it...the inspiration just came, and I wrote. When I finished, I abandoned it in my notebook for some unknown amount of time...then one day I came back, re-read it, typed it up, edited and broadcasted to the world.
So, what do you think?

Reviews

[Mortricia]

Your first stanza is especially inviting. I love the comparison of a candle to a person. We don't even think to consider it for another use after the flame flickers out. Great poem.