Flash Poetry: The Candle

I'm calling poems I publish on here "flash poetry," for the double meaning that they may be briefly illuminating, and indecent exposure.

Lecture

Now, what I have here is a candle.

Some of you may not be familiar

with candles; let me explain:

They are made of wax, they are wick within

and burned, they are light and flame.

What I have here is a candle; Now remember

that the candle cannot see herself.

She sees only the shadows she casts, her

distorted form, she cannot tell that

she sees because of her own light.

She doesn’t know: she is the reason

we see as we have never seen before.

Now remember, what I have here is a candle.

To the candle, the world is melting;

Or rather, she is melting, while the world grows up

around her. How true, she thinks,

that I will only shrink forever. The candle

does not understand, she has

melted before, and will melt again.

Here is a candle.

She wants to hide her twisted body under a

bushel, a cover. She thinks she is dark, even while

she gives light to all of us here,

in this room of the house.