Dan Williams

Endangered Candles

I feel cold.

Air across my temples chilis, disorients,

approved by one hand clapping, one eye blinking

from darkness quickly divorced from illuminations,

failing to reveal camouflaged ruins.

Cold from failure to annunciate desire for warmth

from unfulfilled silver bullet longings,

from reality ship’s horn in the distance.

 

I feel cold;

from pity clashing with self-respect,

hard won esteem disconnected from ego,

wit disconnected from laughter.

Laughter, disconnected from humor

easily perceived as insincere, contrived,

cold now from sins much older than ice.

 

I feel cold.

From unanimated fish dead still in tepid water

poorly lit by short wicks of endangered candles,

desiring only crumbs that likely will not be spread

on the surface of this, their prison.

Coldness in their fish hearts breeds hopelessness,

how much more ominous can predictions be?

How much less warmth in the world can there be/

 

Our history held promise, our stories were bold,

but clouds of greed gathered.

Acid rain poisoned even well sown crops,

plans for discretion went infertile then dropped.

Conspicuous consumption produced wide spread gluttony,

money hungry conviction pulled out all the stops.

Citizens renouncing skepticism, believing anything they were told;

I feel cold.