Hot wax keeps burning your skin

as it slowly flows through your fingers,

spilling onto the endless floor clean,

eventually taking all of your focus.

The candle's barely dancing flame

starts to flicker on and off, slowly dying,

which brings you a feeling of shame,

since you couldn't keep it going.

Your body becomes heavy and numb

as the last glow fades into nothing;

even knowing what was to come,

it is no less lonely and terrifying.

The wax has slowly dried and gone cold,

when you still refuse to open your eyes,

around your tight candle's hold,

opressed by the darkness' power and size.

You wait for years, for centuries and a millenia,

curled up on the hard floor, afraid,

when you hear a voice so familiar

and you come to accept your fate.

The sight that greets you is unlike any other,

myriad of little shining specs floating all around,

rotating around you, making you their centre,

enabling you to see colourful sound.

And all you had to do was put the candle out.