Burning

The first was a firework.
Exploding suns, tiny in their brilliance,
in the pit of a night sky.
The flash and bang, and if
you stood too close,
the earth rocked beneath your feet,
like God's vengeance had returned.
You could see your face:
gold and red and purple,
white and flash, and sometimes
an eyesore blue in the moment.
And a moment was all:
the suns would die again,
their brilliance snuffed out,
and the silence would sweep back in.
But the joy, the involuntary smile,
the step back only after the burn,
and the throwing of caution
to the wildest winds of all.

The second was a candle.
Lit carefully, and to burn forever.
The scent would come in meditation,
and the flame last long beyond.
Barely visible, in the daylight hour,
and the light of the room in the dark.
The burn of your fingertips if you brushed it,
but the soft warmth just outside the flame.
And it never shied away,
though it sputtered when you breathed,
as if your life disturbed its peace and cadence.
Were you to die, would it burn on,
or would you pinch it out,
and ignore the fingertip burn in death?
Would you be the one to kill it,
and condemn it to the dark?
All we know is it cannot burn forever,
but neither for just a moment.

No older, but somewhat wiser,
I can ask you now,
whether you're seeking fireworks in the night,
or candles in the dark?