A Flame's Dance

I strike the match.
Like summoning a dancer, it twirled the wick,
Its dance partner.
Her dress flickered alight.
The flames danced, both alight and glowing bright.

The wick’s dance partner snuffed out
The crippled match fell to the table,
Swept away
Into the bin.

The wick danced to a melancholic tune of its own
Twirling, wiggling, wavering around,
The wax slowly melted
Pooling around the dancer’s feet
Joining the wick in its sorrowful plea
To be set free
To be extinguished and rejoin its love.
It twirled one last time singing its sorrowful plea
And was answered to be set free.

With a lasting breath I blew it out
And as it was extinguished it cried out,

It took flight.
The reminiscence of its dance still twirled, lingering in the air,
Now smouldered smoke wafted upwards without a care
Creating an image of the dancer’s flowing hair.

Its soul still swayed, wavered in the wind
Even long after the wick had thinned and the wax was binned.