The candle breathes in the quiet.
Shadows stretch themselves across the walls,
dancing like ghosts unsure of their rhythm.
Light pools where it is brave enough
to touch, curling into whispers of gold.
You could call it chiaroscuro—
the way darkness and light hold hands,
or maybe something softer, more forgiving,
like the way nightfall lingers on a lover’s face.
The air hums; the flame sways, uncertain,
its heat curling at the edges of a story.
Here, nothing shouts, everything murmurs.
Wooden table glossed in amber halos,
the room softened by its own breath.
There’s a quiet rebellion in firelight—
its warmth against the cold cheek of night,
its fragile body steady despite the dark.
We sat there, held by the flicker.
And for once, no one dared to speak.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: September 3rd, 2026 09:29
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
What a beautiful atmosphere is painted in this write, romantic in every respect of the word. A fave Gray
Thank You Soren
A pleasure all well deserved
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