Answer:
Always wax, yet always wane: I melt, succumbed to the flame. Lighting darkness, with fate unblest, I soon devolve to shapeless mess.
Do you know what you can hold without ever touching it?
My prefix is food. My suffix is rude. My infix comes in rounds. I keep you off the ground. What Am I?
What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees. Up, up it goes, and yet never grows?
I always follow my brother but you cannot see me, only him. You cannot hear him but you can hear me. What are we?
Almost everyone needs it, asks for it, gives it. But almost nobody takes it.