rekindled
Burned, by the flame that once shone so bright, blinding. It danced in the dark, oblivious to the demons and monsters that hid in its shadows. Proud and luminous, flickering as if taunting to be blown out. Smug. Overconfident. Resilient to any tear drop that shed, attempting to end its glory. This candle thought it would burn forever. The wick was strong and thick, the layers of wax coated the outside with character. Each drop, a memory caught along side its tall slender body. Unique from any other candle from the scars it endured from the pains and torments. The flame swayed gently in the wind. And we thought it would shine its bright light forever. But it didn't.
The breeze grew into a strong wind, filled with anger and vengeance from the screams of childish foes. And the tears that shed from laughter turned to showers of sadness. It was only one small candle, that couldn't withstand the storm. Fighting for its life, it held onto that last amber that glowed orange, until all that was left was a cloud of smoke. And even the memories that clung to the sides of the candle faded as the years past.
For 3 years it sat on a shelf, collecting dust. A cool breeze its only friend. Ignored and unloved. Wishing to tell stories of the beautiful days when it burned strong. A candle that doesn't burn has no purpose. Yet its solitude stood strong, awaiting the day when it would burn again. The day someone would bring a flame to its wick and give it breath.
That day arrived. The match was light, and the sparks flew violently once again. The flame brought closer and closer to the wick. But the candle hesitated. Afraid to burn again. Afraid of the strength it once thought it had until reality set in. Frightened of the monsters and demons it witnessed while hiding in its darkness. The candle had new secrets, new fears that may be seen in the light given off by its glow.
The wick caught fire. Flickering ever so slightly. The flame of the candle pulled away from the match. Its reservations matched only by its curiosity for what may come. Scared, but anxious to drip new memories and tell new stories. Hoping still that its secrets were still hidden in the dark corners not light by the candle's light.
Ok.. so that was just some crap I pulled out of my ass at almost 2 in the morning! YAY! It's obvious metaphors are so pathetic, that they shouldn't even be called metaphors. It's just one big "vomit of the brain" describing my feelings toward recent events. Comments always welcome.
Yours