no candles

no candles burn before me
i'm not your ghostly master
no communal placating
for the here and thereafter

there are no candles burning
steadily in every corner
with foggy incantations in a
very specific order

no more sweat seen surfing
past my indecisive brow
like wax along the candles
long snuffed out by now

no more does my heart pound
in rhythm with this drum
punctuating practices
that left me tired and worn

i never veiled myself in black
because a master's not your need
maybe praise for all your suffering
with which you're welcome to proceed

and if i light a candle
it’s but one of many ways
to hike this dizzying life
deeper through the maze

no candles burn before me
ceremoniously or otherwise
no cohort to besiege me
i am solitude, now, and simonized