To Crisis

Sun, 12/29/2013 - 02:06 -- maiasia

To Crisis



The smoke curled like an unfinished sentence,

Like a sigh in a silent room,

Like a question mark, floating on warm breath

In tendrils.



We were all sitting still around a candle

Faded out after a night of wishes

And snowflakes.

Waiting for a few words and then a “?”



Eyes stared into the ceiling as if it were oblivion

But I stared into the smoke.

I watched it twist, and swirl, and caress, and disappear

Like a dancer during the last counts of a song,


Then the question was asked, the candle was out, and the smoke was gone.

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