There are moments when existence feels like a quiet flame, flickering in a world that often forgets it. In such moments, time moves not with the force of thunder but with the gentleness of wax dripping from a candle, unnoticed but inevitable. This poem explores the paradox of endurance; how, despite the silent erosion of moments, something quietly endures within us.
The walls forgot my name today,
The dust refused to see my face.
Time dripped like wax on the floor,
No shape, no sound, no trace.
I sat at the edge of seasons,
Where calendars fade and die,
Wrapped in stillness, old as dusk,
With truths no time can lie.
The window whispered softly,
“Do you still dream in flame?”
I answered in a silence,
And it knew me just the same.
The hours stitched their funeral gowns,
From dreams I never knew.
Each path I did not choose
Grew heavy, yet felt true.
A candle burned beside my soul,
It never needed words.
It warmed the ache of passing time,
And soothed where silence stirred.
It never sought to shout its name,
Nor beg for hearts to adore.
It simply burned because it could,
And that was strength, no more.
This poem speaks not of despair, but of quiet courage. It captures the moments when we remain unseen, uncelebrated, yet still present. In a world obsessed with recognition, the flame that does not seek applause, that simply endures, is the truest kind of strength. Even in its silence, it reminds us that endurance, without fanfare, is a profound act of being.
Addy's Verse 
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