Here I sit, a gentle flame that flickers as the slight air moves me around. My base is solid, my flame is light; But, without each other, we could not exist. Matter and light, contrasting yet complimentary yet totally dependent. My wax is a solid block, a lump that sits. Whereas I am forever in motion, moving, brightening.
I am the burning hot flame: Below me is my base: Below that – the plate on which we stand. Down further – onto the bookcase: It, on the floor it stands: Through the floor and into the soil: Further into the deep layers of the Earth. Then, we reach its core: Its burning, glowing centre…. Then, back up we go: Up through each layer. And further up until we meet again: A connection and extension of this Earth Is what I am.
I am useful. I am a flame that lights a darkened room. An additive to a romantic night. An ambience while relaxing in waters.Those who’s head’s need to clear will stare, in hope to find stillness and peace.
I’m a representative. You are in mourning, and I am your token. You light me for the passed; representing the light in them as well as the light of their presence. The noise and song that I create when atop a birthday cake of a child who takes a deep breath in – then blows – and puts me out, having made one wish, maybe three.
And therefore, I am a symbol. A symbol of hope, of love, of laughter, of tears, of unification. Blow on me; and in a second I am gone. I smoulder, cool and I die.
Until the next time comes, and once more, I am alive again.
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Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge: Object
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