This slender stem—
the wax-imprisoned
soul
of candle's being—
Ignited,
starts the
slow
descent
toward death;
Converting
its encasing flesh
to molten drops
that hang
like tears upon a cheek,
the painful price
of
making life
more
luminous.
Until—
substance spent,
cylindrical shell dissolved—
it makes its final peace
with night,
consumed
by its own passion
to shed
light.