You're Apollo and I'm a boy with wax wings and unfinished things.
Embraced by the soft embrace that throws angels from grace.
Lavishing caresses of golden flame I can't bring myself to blame.
A candle's flame would always sputter and die, but will you cry?
A moth dies for a candle's light, yet I am wax, and you shine bright.
Will you mourn the morning you wake to find me with wax pouring,
Wooden frames burning, charred, trapped and screaming, marred.
Or do you discard me like a child's toy, and say, Icarus, a silly boy.
Do you leave me falling and crying and flame-swallowed and dying.
To sing your empty music and craft yourself a newer candle wick?
YOU ARE READING
Scattered Ponderings
PoetryA single note, it reads *Remember to write something profound here* (cover credit is to @adnali - if anyone's reading this, check out her stuff, it's so good) (spn & fandom is marked in title)
