A Flame Locked in a Room

In an empty desk with a burning mesh,
wax drips like thorns
splintering a touch then scorching flesh,
a finger mourns.

the room's door is close, no lights are on.
a fan slowly oscillates
as books on the floor make a flipping sound
and cellphone vibrates.

meanwhile a girl wonders, if air or fire caresses her hair?
if rain or thunders could wash away her pain?
if it's fair to sit all day on her chair?
if it's fair for the flame to ever be contained?

Now with open window and a dimmed room,
the sound of rain
and a gentle breeze, the flame blooms
on her desk as a flower with no restrain.

May 14, 2013

written by: L.L.