This candle burns in my vision:
Burning wax melts
Like goosebumps dripping down an arm.
I can hear a distant sound
Fading my way,
A cry of fear from the darkness
That fills this room.
I turn my head,
My neck creaks like an old door:
The rusted hindges,
My thoughts following the same root
Carved by my past.
I survey this environment
Where I sit,
Gleanning every detail
As a child witnessing first snow.
The walls hold a blood red
Like a rose covering the blood
Seeping from it’s scalley pores.
Each wall, infused with a sacred lining
Known only by lifes anatomy.
Tonight, as darkness falls
Upon my vision as does it upon
The colors bleeding from the sky,
In the cove of my heart,
Meditation upon lifes small truths
That I still conceal with ignorance:
Why does the present still slip from my grasp?