CANDLE WATCHING.

Emily placed the candle

on the ledge of the window.
Wind blew outside, harsh,
violence in its voice. She
peered out at the night sky:
stars, silvery moon, bright
as candle flame. Out there
in space(unknown to her)
stars flared up and burnt out
to a silent death. She had
scribbled a poem, worked
it into the paper with the firm
nib, black ink as dark blood.
None shall read, she mused,
hidden away out of sight, far
from her sister's prying eyes,
Jane ambitious,outward seeking.
She watched the candle's flame
flicker in wind's kiss through
the window's crack. Inward
looking, her dark depths yet
unsounded, deep as ancient wells.
Far away echoes of inner voices.
The woman she is, the woman
who others seek or want or seek
to play. She is who she is, she
mused, unlike her sisters in whose
shadows she hides. Dark of hair
and eyes, stern and unbending as
a ship's mast, thoughts rushed then
slowed, more deeper, less fast.