Candlelight Motion

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Staring at the flame as it powers through the wick, My eyes are fixed,They stick, Deep in thought. Calmed by the the gentle still motion,Like the skin of an untouched ocean. Senses paused, Drawn by the illusion,The overpowering fusion, For in the c...

Staring at the flame as it powers through the wick,
My eyes are fixed,
They stick,
Deep in thought.

Calmed by the the gentle still motion,
Like the skin of an untouched ocean.

Senses paused,
Drawn by the illusion,
The overpowering fusion,
For in the candle I see myself,
Burning through, placed lonely on the shelf.

The occasional shift with the draft from an open door,
Shaken from the vibrations of an uneven floor.

Burning gently through the solid wax,
Reshaping, remoulding, running down the side crying,
Breaking apart from all angles and then solidifying.

The beauty of the motion, gentle as it burns,
Adapting to its newest form it learns,

That to stand tall you cover less ground,
And remain as you are you are,
Then you risk being left cold and unfound.

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