Pebbles pelt and words welt,
these weapons came worst this last orbit of the sunbelt,
in the sweltering storms I feared I’d melt
and my wax armor felt
like an old wizard’s shielding spell
about to violently quell its quaking self
but inside the dying candle wax
I wore velvet
and I danced
like nothing could touch me
even if it dared
to burn me free.
Happy new year, here’s to taking on new things even if they sometimes hurt.
Another poem about a candle