THE CANDLE

When the wax which dripped from a burning flame, lies stiff and cold and unflowing,
And the flame itself has disappeared, light absent where once it was glowing,
The night grew longer, the blackness deepens, and the music slows,
The questions lie unanswered, then you are left with unnumbered foes.
Within, your beating heart quickens, keeping time with no unintelligible song,
You gasp for breath, pushing death away, though you know it'll stay too long.
Then suddenly, light appears again, though dim and undefined,
You convince yourself it's only a mirage, confined within your mind.
It won't be true, your hope is gone as sunshine in the night,
The footprints in the sand which led, no longer distinguish wrong from right,
You push the thought back deep within, yet hear the whispering voices
Telling you of prophecies past and the outcome of your choices.
The music picks up and the whirlwind starts, as a merry-go-round in your soul,
Then all at once the rhythm is gone, the orchestra is no longer whole.
It's up to you to save your world, this life that you are living
The light which has burned but for a moment wants to keep on giving.
It needs some shelter, like a shawl surrounding, to keep the heat from escaping,
It needs the artist's hands so strong to keep remolding, painting, and shaping.
Or ignore the turn of season each year and pretend it isn't so,
But the torch you lit outside your heart without shelter can't survive the snow.