I watched it burn

Wrapped in cellophane, there is a gift at the door.

It's a big red candle,

intact, with so much in store.

Years pass by and I watch it burn.

The wick always steady,

yet eventually it gets worn.

To ignite it, it only takes a spark.

And throughout time,

the candle leaves its mark.

On the table, on the floor, in the air.

The air that we breathe, the air where we live.

The smoke rises and appears to disappear,

yet it remains and touches many. Some aware, some not.

It still clouds their vision, impregnates their hair.

Its scent is everywhere.

I watch the flame grow but the candle melt.

Slowly the wax, its foundation, shrinks.

The once intense and vibrant light is now barely in sight.

I desperately try to ignite it a second time,

yet the tired glim lets go,

leaving me to stare at its empty base.

Leaving me in sorrow, leaving me in pain.

It guided me for years.

But oh how I watched it burn,

and now I'm in tears.