Candlelight

The autumn sky grows darker each passing night.
The sun takes her time
enjoying a late slumber.
She knows when it’s time to rest
and time to play.

Candles warm the senses 
like a warm mug of herbal tea.
Artificial light could never equal
its warm amber glow.

I marvel at the flame,
how it flicks on the wick.
A quiet solitary dance
atop my candle.

And when I blow out the flame,
I make a small wish:
To live another day.
To appreciate the day’s gifts.
To remember my intention
And breathe in the lessons.

There’s a small trail of smoke
that lingers above a red 
yet fading wick.
Remnants of what was once there.

The wax erodes in tandem
with the passing of time.
And I am aglow inside and out.