POEM: Plague

We are melting candles
Frenzied by the noise of
Our own our diminutive voice.
Our tongues that click and clack
This and that.

Relax.

Death is on its way.

The problems that have
Plagued us up to this point
Are wax drippings.

This is what the flame teaches.

What is left is what we have
Tried to avoid all this time:
The persistent cat-tongued voice
Wallpapering our brains;
Our turning around and
Around again and again only to
Face ourselves.