I read a lot of poetry, some of it extremely good, and some of it just kind of good. None of it is bad, because poetry is like the beauty of one’s lover, in that the beauty will not be seen by all who gaze upon her or him. Poetry—all poetry—is beautiful to someone.
Most poetry, it seems to me, is about love in one way or another; the gaining of it, the experiencing it, and sadly the losing of it. The latter could be compared to country music, I suppose, but then if you change a few words here and there, every poem is a country song just waiting to be sung.
I believe I’m rambling… does it seem like I’m rambling? Why… yes… yes it does.
Enjoy the poem!
A Thousand Candles
Love is like a room full of candles
When love burns bright and warm
Within two lovers’ hearts
The room is lit so brightly
Flames of love dancing with joy
Lovers smile and laugh like children
On Christmas with a brand new toy
But in this room of a thousand candles
Winds of time can kill the flames
Shadows of doubt cool the fires
Things will never be the same
The wind may be a word spoken in haste
Or something merely taken wrong
The shadow could come from the past
Flames will die if it lingers long
And so they watch as flames flicker and die
They struggle to re-light the candles
But they just go out again
One lover alone now in a room dark and cold
Frigid wind blows across aching heart
Wondering when love lost its fire
She sits alone and weeps in the dark
Copyright © 2011 C. Mashburn
Posted in Promising Poets Parking Lot’s Thursday Poets’ Rally Week 58