-- 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.