Awaited Spark

by mourningdovesoap

It seems like everyone
has that spark
on their candle's wick,
while the waxy flux still
pertains to mine.

Is there a lighter?
Looking at the drawers,
checking the cabinets
seeing no one here,
except the wick that awaits
its fire to arrive,
while action remains abandoned
like always.

I'm not looking hard enough.
Revising the counters
yet again.
What a foolish fantasist am l,
wishing but never giving.

What is this?
A lost matchbox appears
haven't been spotted in years,
calling my name in its faded branding,
persuading me to go approach
those with the lit candles.

You know, for some reason
I'm scared.
In respect of the matchbox
I swallow my misleading pride
and head into the imaginary abyss
that is the crowd.

It's glowing.
As I look down the candle's wick,
shining its fiery aurora against me.

I can't go back there.