15 December 2015


By Bryan

The candle burns slowly,
In the table of her mind,
The street lamps flicker,
Air is damp.

Her mind is not there,
Lost it when he left,
Smiling has become a chore,
Like breathing, sleeping,

She closes her eyes,
The face of her love,
His long blonde hair,
Blue eyes, his accent, voice
as if he were there.

The candle upon the table.
Burns slowly in the night,
Storm outside,
A cart goes past,
A tear in her eye.

She tells her loved ones,
Friends and family,
She is fine,
She lies.

Things remind her of him,
Her quill,
Her bed,
The moon,

A candle.

She knows he feels the same,
He has told her,
Doesn’t make it easier.
Her lover’s taking it worse.

She must focus,
Move on,
Keep her love,
At the back of her mind.

Each day, a chore

The candle burns slowly,
Burns slowly in the night,
Candle upon the table.
The table of her mind.

© 2013-2016