We Enter the Scene
We enter the scene of a room—
Not through a window—
There is none;
Not a single gap through the wall
But for a door—an opening—
Just one;
At an end in this closed box,
There’s a jutty hanging-out
With a leavened candle-stick:
Lighted Candles adorn the scene—
They burn with fervor
And a glowing wick..
…Nothing much is seen in the corners—
Which are dark—
In a gloom they sit…
Apart from a feeble, ailing man,
There’s seen none—
No other presence…
Apart still, from feebler groans
We hear naught
To baffle the sense…
One moment, This Picture swims
Across and through the head—
Then all that’s heard is silence:
When in the next,
Is sensed a dead—
The air grows heavy—a little dense…
All of a sudden, the flames that burn,
Start to curl and wiggle about;
Now, in an attempt to free themselves,
They writhe in pain—try reaching out:
All in no time, the remnant dies—
All argument, conjecture and surmise…
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
