The Tom Who Died Poem by Chris Schleier, Jr.

The Tom who died
filled me with life

for he was alive.

A walking, glowing candle

He shined his light on me.

A morphed, spent pool of wax I was-
looking up to see

What life could be.

He tipped his tall shaft

and

drip, drip, drip, drip.

I was truly taller.

His light was beautiful

but he was tall, I was small.

drip, drip, drip, drip.

His presence made me rise.

drip, taller, drip, taller

he built me with every drip

until

I was as tall as him.

Fading was his
beautiful light

level with my tip.

drip, drip, drip, bump.

He tipped me just a bit.

And breathed into my tip

a flame

as beautiful as his.

Fading, fading
out he went.

His glowing fire of life
is now in me.

Looking down below,

I see a pool of
spent out wax.

drip, drip, drip, drip.

The Tom who died lives on.