Wax Throne

The Fight Against One's Demons

The candle flickered with a pitiful flame. The warm glow penetrated the darkness like a cruel joke, and the smoke emitted shrouded energy throughout the leaden room. Drops of soft wax slowly traveled in tendrils down like rivers of tears across a woman's cheek. They followed the engravings of her face carved by time's skilled hands. They made swift contact with the silver platter stuffed with luster and desire which begged with desperate greed for more despaired encrusted tears. A glossy sheen reflected off hardened wax as it obediently collected in pools around the candles base building an oxidized throne.

The king wore a crown that shown with brilliance, a strange flow of light. It punctured the darkness like a liquid, a sea of blazing candles, tangible and full of depth. Yet no matter how deep the king's ocean was, the darkness spanned an eternity of murk that engulfed with shadow. As the king's light grows brighter, the ocean grows deeper. Tears fall uncontrollably building the throne higher.

The candle threatens to topple over, tears fall, waves crash and the woman watches. The wick bends in submission and the light extinguishes. All that is left is a wax throne.