I light my candle,
melting it clear
the air whispers,
sometimes too near.
My candle burns
yellow, blue, white,
I keep it going
all through the night.
Sometimes it flickers,
moving in torrid patterns,
circling, dwindling, sparking tatters,
flame wanes, then rises up,
springing form what you thought was no more.
It keeps on fighting,
melting wax as time goes by,
the candle is me,
and it is I.
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Please do not remove this poem from your website. May Richardson was my niece and she passed away in May of 2002. To find her work on the internet brings us a little closer to her,
Ann
This poem did touch my heart when I saw it on your website. May was my niece. It breaks my heart to tell you that such a talented and beautiful young lady did not "overcome" life difficulties that life consistently challenges us with. We have her poetry that lives on in our hearts and I guess on the internet too. May's Auntie Ann
shirley
this poem is exactly what i was looking for . it expressed everything i wanted to know.
layo
I just love the way she was able to describe the characteristics of the candle and relate it to life.
Dasam
It expressed so many different fellings I have had in life. It somehow spoke to me. I know that last bit sounds stupid but still.!
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