A match strikes,
a brief hiss of flame birthed.
Touch to wick,
fire takes root.
Darkness retreats,
pushed back by flickering light.
Shadows dance on walls,
a silent cinema of shapes.
Wax pools, a tiny moon
cradling its own sun.
Liquid becomes solid,
time marked in cooling droplets.
Scent unfurls,
invisible tendrils curling.
Vanilla? Lavender? Pine?
Memories triggered by fragrant ghosts.
Flame sways,
responding to unseen breaths.
It bends but doesn't break,
resilient in its delicate dance.
Hands cup around the glow,
feeling phantom warmth.
It's barely there, yet enough
to chase away inner chills.
Light catches in the window panes,
reflection upon reflection.
The room doubles, triples,
infinite in candlelit dimensions.
Outside, rain falls harder,
but its drum is muffled now.
Here, in this golden bubble,
storm and stress feel distant.
One candle becomes two, three,
a constellation on the coffee table.
Each flame is a tiny heartbeat,
pulsing in soft unison.
As the candle burns low,
wick drowning in its own creation,
the spell lingers, unwilling to break.
This gentle glow is a balm for rainy souls.
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Poems for a Rainy Day
PoetryThis enchanting collection of poems celebrates the quiet magic of rainy days, inviting readers to curl up with a warm cup of tea and explore the beauty of grey skies. From misty mornings to stormy nights, each poem is a soft blanket for the soul, e...
