Battery powered candles don’t shine after dusk

I sit and watch the way they deceive
in the pockets of air between their words
and their next intake of breath
knowing that I am no different
in the way I paint
my own smile

We’ll not…
No…
I’ll not
say the words
that will suck the life
from this lukewarm atmosphere
that feigns the calm it tenuously hides behind

Because joy is just a three letter word
that’s looking for a connection
to a power more divine
that our ego’s stroked and stoked
with all the charge of a battery-powered candle
the flickering light
unable to withstand anything heavier
than a feather touch

In the red wine inebriation
of the setting sun
all things go to hell

Their words hit like a brick

© Indie Adams 2013