Finally, something to grab on to.
This candle to a dying wish
Was lit with the touch of this.
Illuminating a hand to hold,
A hand away from a journey’s bitch.
The candle wax melting slowly
Gave me a reason to be aware.
Gave me a scare, a reason to care,
Yet, I do not remove my hand.
Let emphasis be the pain.
Emphasis is my life, don’t you see,
Looked at through a magnifying glass.
Overwhelmed did I stay, first and last.
Expectations scorched from light
Aimed through an overexposed lens.
So, I hid in the shadows.
But this light, this dimmer sight,
Means more to me than expectations,
For it’s small you see, this illumination.
Something I can control,
Something to call my own.
Oh, what a feeling to behold.
I mold the wax,
I make it to what I see.
My definition of what a journey should be.
Although, it’s troubling,
Because fire makes the candle
Melt into comformity.
The fire burns but it seems indifferent.
It is what it is.
It is heaven sent,
Or what I would imagine it to be.
To be exact, what I want it to be.
As it slowly melts away,
And my burning hand molds day by day,
There is nothing more than this.
Nothing more than control,
Control of illumination.
The illumination away from the emphasis
Getting bigger everyday. |
Submission Name: The Control Of Illumination
