By: Tonya Ross
Standing mere inches from the peak
Tall and erect,
Like a beacon in the night.
It waits patiently
For the moment of ignition and recognition.
It was created for this moment
Born of a thought to light the way.
Its fibers are at the ready,
Its tip wanting to put on a good performance.
Calm and still,
It knows it’s just a matter of time
Before it can do the intended job.
And a messy job it will be.
Steady drips of hot liquid
Will make its way down its shaft
Until it meets the base.
Forming a pool where it will
Then cool leaving smooth piles and hills behind.
Changing its shape and leaving
Only small viewable traces of what it once was.
It will burn out satisfied of a job well done.
Not at all sad when the lit match
Finally lights its wick,
It flickers sending shadows
Tossing about the room.
The candle is finally at work.