The Life of a Red Wax Droplet

<font type="Times New Roman" size="3" color="blue"> -- Before I start. This isnt really a poem.. But.. Random ramblings.. When I want to escape from the music, TV, computers, and other stresses of every day life.. I light the candles surrounding my reflection shrine, sit in perfect silence for a few (and sometimes more than a few) minutes.. Give myself a reading.. Then write about something completely random.. That is where The Life of a Red Wax Droplet was born.. It's a little weird, but amusing.-- I sit.. Watching the wax from a red stick candle slowly drip down its side.. Drying before reaching bottom. More drips, and more. Creating a tiny line of red wax. I dobble in the wax. Running my finger up the edge of the building wall. Catching on my sensitive flesh the still wet and warm wax of the latest drops pushed over the edge. Now.. The pace of the drops has quickened unexpectidly. The tiny drops fall quickly, not a second between one and then something has changed. The lump in the middle has extended to far to drop the running dabs of wax to another hump safely close below.. Instead, these quickly descending drops fall lower, splattering down below on the brass stand that holds it erect. Pushed over the edge. Flowing down the side comfortably. Then it comes to the mother hump. It continues, over its length, coming to the edge of this lumps existance. It pauses, unable to move due to the airs effect on its exterior. Drying it. Slowly. Safe from the fatal cliff.. Until.. Boom.. another innocent drop of wax hits its back. Forcing the previous off the edge. It falls. Innocence of the short lived wax droplet gone, disolved as it splatters. The cool of the brass hardens the now old droplet. Within seconds this droplets existance is altered forever. It goes from a soft liquid flowing, glowing, substance of pure beauty to a flattened mass of dried hard wax. Such is the life of a red wax droplet.</font>