The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Candle's Edge

Hoar-mouthed winds rattle round the rafters 
Dark storm blankets away the light
An empty table holds the lone flame
with a heart barely blue writhing like 
some tortured pixie on a string
I bathe in the wealth of shadows by
your bed as you rest in wrestled breaths
fluttering between nightmares awaiting
the dawn of ancestral light to welcome
you to where I cannot tread and I hope
you will forget your tired humanity and
erupt in a supernova emission back to
the edges from whence we spawned, 
a momentary vertex to all the angles 
the catalog of a solitary brilliance 
of a color only my eyes can see 
and shall never again awaken to...
how thirstily you lap up my last wax
I have nothing left to render 
hand in hand we grow cold together
even as we place our last hope that
the winds will die down soon
we slump down upon the earth
and embrace the dry ground.
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