The Flame

A light is born from a tiny flame, ignited by the one who has the power to give it the gift, the journey of life. Once it has been lit, the candle flickers again and again, and the shadows create silhouettes of insignificants upon interior plains. The life flickers in and out, as the candle takes its breaths. Each flicker is like one day in a life, sometimes short, sometimes long, sometimes pulling this way and that way. Sometimes the spirit is taller, sometimes a little brighter, while other moments, it is almost nonexistent. The duration of the life, is not always within the candle itself, as it may burn until there is nothing but a twirling stream of smoke rising to the sky, but that outcome is unlikely. Power belongs to the environmental factors, and the one in which gave the candle its light. They light may be revoked, whenever they wish, and become nonexistent, until it is reborn. Each light will be different, perhaps a flame with more of a yellow tinge, perhaps a stronger smell, or even a larger smoke stream. The candle will never understand its full existence, but the one with the power, always will.