the candle bleeds heavy
and pools at its feet
the flame ready to drown
in its own wax
its light ready to succumb
to the ravenous dark
the dwindling fire dances
a sporadic, tipsy waltz
where a one, two, three
can drop anyone to their knee
where the tiny hot hands
reach out beyond the wick
praying for acknowledgement
begging for unity
hoping for change
wishing that it doesn't
meet the same fate
as those many flames
that have come before
to be blown out
by an unobservant
passerby, to be
spat on by bigots
to be crushed between
two fingers moistened
with hate and disrespect
the dwindling fire,
my how it dances
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