Candles

The flame was glowing,
Bright and warm,
The softness of its glow,
Was tender and calm.

Below it there was the wax,
It was melting and flowing, and regrouping, all of its own,
Little did the flame care to know,
The effort the wax was taking.

No word of praise, no feeling of joy,
For the softness of the wax that melts to give others warmth and joy.
All the joy only for the flame,
All the praise only for the flame

Doesn't the wax also need its share of praise?
Doesn't the wax deserve its share of joy?
Why doesn't the flame understand,
All that the wax goes through each time it burns.

What if the flame understands?  What would change?
The wax was destined to live that life,
To melt, and regroup, only to melt again,
And have the courage to regroup all over again, all by its own.

All through this
The wax continues to live with the flame
Never asking or questioning its fate
Happily being the anchor, so that the flame burns bright.