I have a candle which is very unique
It is straight, tall, and singed at the wick

Along the road another candle different, but just the same unique, I liked and claimed
The wax was a bit melted; the flame though was tall,
Side by side the candles began to wane and bend emanating light

When the cold of the winter broke the heat and light went out
The candles were broken apart, yet they still resembled each other,
There was something different about them when they were seen apart

Time seemed to straighten my first candle,
But the second still seemed to have a niche for light

They say when you play with fire you often get burnt
My finger blistered and wiser I grew

I have many candles, none are alike, and many have not seen a flame
Those touched by fire: tested, true, and beautiful to intent

News from a far of a third candle
The first candle was rough and odd,
Where is it now?
Sitting in the closet marred, shapen, and bound to last longer

Across the road sat the other candle which strangely enough used to resemble mine
It too had been shapen and remolded
It was sturdier and wider almost resembling multiple wicks

Was it a mirage or just a dream two candles lit and melted together?
How unfamiliar was the third one
One flame, but what of the third

With a breath of air the time did change
Change or not, the bent of the two was gone
Both candles had migrated and undergone changes which to the eye was hidden

With a moment and two words the candles melted and were one wick
Placement of the first was hard with scars showing only under the red paint
To the closet I put my first candle

Are the doors open or closed?
Is the candle lit or out for good?
When does the candle disappear?

And what of the light
Has a new room been filled?
Moving: to which room