Flicker in the dark

Wax drips slow like tired thoughts,

the lamp sputters, shadows twitch.

Light dances where the darkness knots,

and fills the room with nervous pitch.

The flame licks glass, uneven, weak,

a quiet fight against the night.

Each flicker blinks, a breath, a sneak

of hope that won’t stay steady, bright.

Outside, the blackout swallows streets,

inside, the quiet hums and shakes.

I watch the wax pool in slow sheets,

feel time drip down like soft mistakes.

Flickering, trembling, barely there—

a fragile glow caught in cold air.