Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Candles (Poem 246)

Warm, but cold, the room
looks blue, old carpeting
tan, dark windows shutting
their eyes 

on the shortest day 
of the year. I am here;
home is where you are, 
which is not in this chill
graying room with me.

Candles, I hear, bring
a spark of life to a room
such as this. When my match
kisses their vulnerable white
wicks and flares, it's clear

they are right. I light some more,
then watch their dancing flames
whipping the darkness back 
into the small corners
of this room.

 (c) 2013, by Hannah Six