Year 13 Bayfield High School
Supple, the fluid rolls in wax stalactites,
The flame exhales in sadness, dripping.
A saucer bears courage of the tubule of love and opportunity.
The flame weaves in sadness,
And the opportunity wilts.
The seduction of the mind,
Utilised, and breathing.
Listen, as it is heavy, it is hearing me,
The flame whispers a deepened sorrow,
I cannot make it, not now
And never tomorrow.
Are they tears of the night, or the readiness that awaits to usurp the dawn,
The encroaching sun or the flame?
My soft breath sends it dancing,
Filament pirouettes whipped in a tangerine arc
Flicker ever higher and I am asleep,
And the flame, it swirls on its canvas,
Casting one last curve, and is snuffed,
As the waxen weeping concludes.
