So, my adorable younger sister Tiffany is taking a few college courses, one of which is English. She is struggling with the teacher tons but managing to get her "A" in the class. One of her last assignments was to write a Process Poem, she was a quite stressed worried that her poetry writing abilities would not pay off...so in support of her I offered my help. I realized I had never written a Process Poem, I have taken poetry classes but it was never assigned, so I found it quite fascinating. I read up a little bit online and was inspired, so along with my assisting her (which she didn't need, and I didn't really assist) I wrote my own process poem titled "Candle". It may not be perfect, but I did state that I only dabble, and this is my first attempt.
CandleThe tall pale slender silhouette
Stands still and lonely in the stale lifeless room
Upon her throne of glory
Her stage for future audiences gaze
Cold, lonely, temporary
A stage that will soon crown a new star
leaving only traces and memories
Fire, heat, burning-
The molding process so ritual so impersonal
Liquefied, spilt into a metal cavern, stuffed, cooled
Created purely to give beauty and cease existence
Beauty for others pleasure and admiration
Patiently she waits
longing to be enlivened and aroused
With a quick flicker she comes to life
The burning she yearned for finally fulfilled
A hummed Ahhh, fills the room in unison, her audience
Her sweet aroma drowning the stale air
The soft ray of light cascades downward
Mimicking the peek-a-boo of sunlight
Splitting the clouds momentarily to kiss the earth
With the light darkness steals the show
A flurry of shadows wildly dance
Yearning, grasping to take hold
One by one darting from each empty corner
Casting and portraying stories and legends
Stories of passion, love, and mystery
She silently begins weeping
No shuddering of shoulders, just tears
Constant tears, tears of the melt pool
Tears that fall as memories are created
Just as her ancestors over hundreds of years
And now her fulfilling her destiny
The tears continue to slowly converge
Her throne o’er flowing with tears of soft white
No longer the pale slender silhouette
She had given freely of her beauty
Fire, heat, burning-
Life more meaningful than creation for the candle
The slightest breeze robbing her from life
Hushhh, a mere whisper can claim the flame
The shadows, the passion, her gift
Nothing remains but the sacrifice she gave
Silence, Darkness...
