There are two candles on this table:
One, its spine snapped in three
places, fragile like the thought
of tommorow.
Its flame dances seductively willing
the thoughts to come.
It competes with darkness and will
lose only when its body melts from
its soul, or when I decide to explore
my dreams for the words I cannot find.
The other is new and is fat with wax
this burns more slowly its flame moves
only when my breath startles it.
I see you in the silent heat
of the flames, the before and after.
The young plump girl full of mothers
hope and love.
And then the broken mess that only
smiled when it slept.
We needed each other like the needle
does the junkies vein.
The swollen lake does the rain.
One lost soul clipped anothers wings
and so we sat, stuck on the ground
floor of the hotel of hope.
Tired of the memory I return
as her face melts away with the
candles hot white grief.
I blow the broken one to sleep
so it can dance again.
The fat one full of life can burn tonight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very sad, like me today Vincent. Thanks for expressing it so well. 10 from, burning not so brightly, Tai