Writings | Ellen Cohn

By the Light of Candles

The wicks of candles but wither away

The fire crumbles and falls today

The wax drips downward, moonlit clay

But when the wax is a congealed pool

And the flame has gone to glowing jewels

Where the the ashes lay?

I grit my teeth but want to scream

When she tells me that my many a dream

Are just foolish hallucinations

Yet I know and shake with my anticipations

Of greatness and ambitions

Of belief and glorious premonitions

The only thing that keeps me from

Accomplishing glory is my rule of thumb:

Never run it by her

Or else there will be a blur

Of put-downs and turn-aways and insults, too

Such as, you’ll never do XYZ with your ideas all askew

But would it be such a shame to admit

That the ‘she’ is me, always telling myself to quit?

— Ellen Cohn

There's a place up there

A puzzling concept in itself

Above the sky, above the air

Buried behind stuff, the back of the shelf

And however well or unwell we fare

It's a daydream we all share

And something we can't see

So until embers fall from the mantelshelf

We'll just have to let it be

Just sit back and believe.