I try to hold strong. Fluttering like the candle light, I wait to burst out into endless fury, but in this, in any second, I hold the thought of swift and utter pain falling into dark's deafening silence. In this existence my flesh stings with the thought of soft wind and of cool morning's light as well, for knowing one stretch of beams over the horizon will strike me into the pits below. I listen to the world's cries and search for subtle strength to hold back this shaking, this iridescent fear of breakout. It floats up and down now; hidden in its own flame, secretly ashamed but striving in sudden shivers to survive this cruel night. It looks in such pain, my pain. I want to answer the world's cries and save them from their own voices into swift death, but for now, I stay here fluttering with the candle, watching its dancing; maybe we are not so alike. Maybe I am alone. Maybe in this world I am meant to be the watcher in the dark moonlight, waiting for eternity's chance to strike.
What Am I?
February 23, 2009