I am, I suppose, fire. I burn bright, and my love shines. Giving heat, warmth, supplying so much for so little… so many. I have a constant yearning for more… more things that my flame can sweep of the surface of Earth. For fire can mean damage. For what good there is, there must be a bad side. I am a blaze for Light…
For Dark.
And she is my wax rose. Beautiful, a blood-red shade… glossy crimson petals never to open further than how it is. Holding bright the vivid Burning… She has pale features, so far away. She may seem frail, too stunning to have protection, yet… so many times she remains distant, remote, isolated. For she has thorns to ward off the majority. Few have ever reached her, so very few.
And I am one of them.
How does that make me lucky…?
For she is a wax rose… her pallid splendor may only last so long. One day, the fire will burn her. She will melt from the fiery passion, and disappear. Fragments of her past magnificence will only be seen by those who care to notice. No silken, scarlet petals… No stem to hold her up… No sepals and such to keep the blossom intact… No thorns to drive away those who approach. Only a mere puddle of her former self, with nothing much left to support the flame. Leaving it to shine alone…
For nobody.
And when the wick, my soul, is gone… is useless, I too shall fade away.
For Dark.
And she is my wax rose. Beautiful, a blood-red shade… glossy crimson petals never to open further than how it is. Holding bright the vivid Burning… She has pale features, so far away. She may seem frail, too stunning to have protection, yet… so many times she remains distant, remote, isolated. For she has thorns to ward off the majority. Few have ever reached her, so very few.
And I am one of them.
How does that make me lucky…?
For she is a wax rose… her pallid splendor may only last so long. One day, the fire will burn her. She will melt from the fiery passion, and disappear. Fragments of her past magnificence will only be seen by those who care to notice. No silken, scarlet petals… No stem to hold her up… No sepals and such to keep the blossom intact… No thorns to drive away those who approach. Only a mere puddle of her former self, with nothing much left to support the flame. Leaving it to shine alone…
For nobody.
And when the wick, my soul, is gone… is useless, I too shall fade away.