Kylan Tatum: Hopeless Light

Candles

Wax descends slowly
Like tears from
A weeping flame.
Boring its path
With golden light.

Fire stands triumphant
Above its conquered prey,
Whispering its meaningless
Victory chant.

Darkness watches,
Indifferent yet intrigued,
Hesitant to
Snuff out fire.
For Darkness has never
Encountered a flame
So blazing.

Wax pours
Over the edges of the tray
Forming clumps  
On the papers below.

Fire squeals with delight
Expanding with
Each second.
Lingering on the edge
Of eradication.

Darkness smirks with
A knowing confidence.
Its mouth curling
Into a horrific grin.

Wax pools
On the floor.
Unmoving and defeated.

Fire licks its lips
Voraciously.
Burning hotter
Than ever before.

Then Darkness reclaims the night.

Sparks

Sparks don’t die,
Not in the slightest
Fleeting memories
Burn the brightest
Burdened with a
Molten core
Marking what
Was there before.

All sparks glow
Until they flicker.
Tainted air will
Make them sicker.
Eating at their
Fragile soul
Until their
Bodies leave
A hole.

The Golden Sun

What happened to the golden sun?
Its mist-shrouded glow
Masking its violent tendrils
Beating the earth,
Casting shadows
On all that moves.

What happened to the golden sun?
It’s rain-coated bitterness
Bringing warmth.
It’s perpetual spiraling
Gifting solidarity.
It’s foolish gold guise
Inspiring wisdom.

What happened to the golden sun?
Joyfully wrathful
Elegantly gluttonous
Restrainedly lustful
Perversely envious
Unabashedly greedy.

What happened to the golden sun?
Its core molten
yet bare.
Its heat bothersome
and withdrawn.
Its light brilliantly sorrowful.

What happened to the golden sun?