The mind of a Candle

A Beautiful smell dancing around the air resting in our souls and providing peace to our unsettled hearts. A smell that gives and gives, but scarcely do we see who has given us this gift. It wasn’t until my foolish hand grazed over the burning surface of a candle that I realized the selflessness of this object. To the touch, my hand stung with sharp pain, but that sting is this candle’s reality so that it might provide others with joy and contentment. He is not asking for his pain to be taken from him, for he would have no purpose if he was blown out, but every moment he cries to be thanked. He cries to be recognized for his selfless heart. He stretches his beautiful arms out to dance around us with their sweet aromas, but scarcely do we thank him for the shows he puts on for us. He creates his own light, his own spotlight because we refuse to shine the spotlight on him. He serves and serves, but is burned for his gratitude. He is aware that one day he will experience his last drip, the dance of the aroma will take its last bow and the spotlight will die. Every drop of wax is his tear that cries out to us to be noticed. He lives his life wondering how he could serve all day and never be thanked. But he does not want to be stopped. He cannot be slowed down and if I try to stop him he will burn me as well, for his dance is beautiful and it is all that he has, and he will dance until he is no more, and the air will be bitter when the music ends. All he asks in return is that we watch his show, look upon his art, and thank him for his beauty.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world

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