The Burning candle

Disclaimer: Suggested that this is read only in a state of intoxication (weed, music, or otherwise), as it may not make much sense otherwise. Also because it was written in such a state.(suggested background music- padmasana-buckethead. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Nj1D2y-PY8)

A burning candle that illuminates only itself. The choking darkness snuffing the rest. The sick smell of incense licking the air like sinister fog.

Twisted metal smoldering with the heat of its own screaming conscience. Ashes of the forgotten hurled blindly into the sultry night sky. And all that’s left to criticize is the men themselves.

The candles that melt onto the metal, soothing its violent crevices with the warm wax, flowing seamlessly into the wounds, nurturing what was once lost.

Humanity is whole. Partly.

The six horsemen stare at it through the fog. The morbid melancholy of the monster. One falls into insanity. The others wail hysterical.

Hope is lost like a rusted anchor in a storm ridden ocean. The cruel waves crash mirthlessly onto the creaking floorboards. The men hold the candle to the storm, begging for mercy.

Humanity is whole. Partly.

The fogs clears, the storm maiden is shown. The impeccable reflection frightens another. His cries echo across the silent storm. Insanity has taken another.

The others sink to the wet hull, the candle long since extinguished. The darkness kills absolution. The water drowns rehabilitation.

Humanity is whole. Partly.

Leaden weights float miraculously through the water. The maiden cries softly. The moist second hand falls to the floor. The water takes another. His breath robbed by the distorted reflection.

Humanity is whole. Partly.

Slivers of land clawing through the relentless waves. The fires of netherworld beckon quietly, the obsidian cornerstone shining malevolently under its writhing reflection. The hollow spirit of the candle takes another.

The anchor floats to, rust and grime cleansed. Silvery light of the moon shone on the contours of the familiar messiah.

Humanity is whole. Partly.

Dead cries echo across the sands. Greed and lust forgotten, water and hearth craved. But the sinking sun grants solace to no one. Six that yearned, six that lived.

Two absolved.

Humanity is whole. Partly.

Ravenous gleam of the dying embers. Raw stench permeates the fibres. Six inch nails dug deep into the sand. Forsaken rites revoked. Incense lit once more.

Fingers intertwined. Mistakes remembered. Remorse guiding past the damned mines. Candlelight seen once more through the fog. Hazy mist endured. This time.

Humanity may just be whole.