drops of water on a blade of grass

A Candle's Flame

I once had this crippling idea that I had to be a candle's flame,

lighting people's way as my wax burned dangerously low.

I burned to see people smile,

I burned to see them find their way out of dark dungeons,

only for them to discard what was left of my wick.

I learned the hard way that my martyrdom was left unappreciated,

people's selfish thoughts overtaking them as they watched 

my cinders float away in the wind with no remorse.

They all left my wax alone to rot, 

finding better ways to light their darkness.

But in doing this, they created mine.

My old orange, optimistic glow has faded

into a bluish-black, pessimistic ash.

I now shield myself from making the same mistake

of burning for those who don't deserve it, 

but I sometimes misjudge those who wouldn't abuse my flame.

In order to cage my bleeding heart,

I have created a void in its place unknowingly,

no longer feeling the need to burn myself up 

in the hopes of being a blaze in a world full of rain.