Poetry Month Special
You wished me to be a candle
to read me in my light.
And while you read on,
I dropped hot tears on your behalf.
As the night wore on,
You wondered what kept me aglow.
For, reasons there were none.
Save to illuminate your path
through my life.
In my flickering glow,
I could read your glance, askance.
‘Why is it that sometimes
the scar hurts more than the wound? ‘
I had no answer.
You see, I had both.
And time had dulled all sensations.
With the first rays of dawn,
my flame seized your being,
to be wounded and scarred.
And the last drop of wax
sealed your fate.
Now, I can burn no more
and shall read you in your light.
And ask you,
‘Does the scar hurt more
or the wound?’
For now you know
how love burns
and leaves nothing behind.
