Tales and Tails

In a quiet chamber, lit by two trembling flames,
a silver tray holds relics with forgotten names.
The candles stand like sentinels, their wax tears slowly fall,
casting long and crooked shapes that stretch across the wall.

Between them rests a bottle, sealed and still with care,
its label speaks of distant sands, of sunlight, salt, and air.
Though far removed from ocean tides, the grains within still gleam,
as though they carry whispers from a half-remembered dream.

And there — upon the shadows’ edge, where silence folds in tight,
a pale cat curls with watchful eyes that shimmer in the night.
She does not stir, she does not speak, yet in her steady gaze,
the room is held in reverence, suspended in a daze.

The candles seem to answer her, their flames both bow and sway,
as though they know the guardian who keeps the dark at bay.
No shadow dares to steal the light, no echo dares to roam,
for where the pale cat chooses, the chamber feels like home.

So rest, while sands remember, and flames in silence glow —
the keeper of the candlelight will guard you as you go.