Angele Toomey Poetry

We like to believe we can hack our way out of exhaustion — that we can freeze a candle to make its flame last longer, just as we press ourselves into tricks and techniques to stretch the brittle limits of our energy. But time, heat, and our own restless vigilance always have their way.

This poem sits with the quiet ruin of a small, stubborn hope. It watches a candle burn from the inside out: first the patient tending, then the hollowing, then the cold that comes when the light at last gives out. It is a study of what it means to be weathered — not only by the demands of the world, but by the illusions we keep about how long we can shine.

Burnt Out
I used the life hack, the candle
has spent time in the freezer
to ensure it would burn longer.

I tended the flame
as best I could,
did everything
I thought I should.

At first it was
an even burn-
no smoke to cause
a concern.

Slowly the wick
ate into the wax
This wasn't the time
for one to relax.

A lake was formed 
by melted moments
rising up like
seeping regret.

My paranoid vigilance
meant I noticed,
managed the crisis,
and counted myself blessed.

On the outside it
seemed to cast a solid glow
But the candle had
now become hollow.

Thin walls of unburnt
remains
Guarded the
gentle flame.

The wick continued
its journey
And I watched
diligently.

Realising there was
nothing to do:
this candle would
burn out too.

I kept watch as
the flame flickered.
Black smoke
accumulated
staining the
clear glass.
The day turned cold
when the light finally passed.