Living Fire

The darkness is blinding.

A half-melted candle—flickering to produce

just an ounce of light.

Immeasurable and spent.

 

The shadow pierces where dagger scratches—

Deeper than the glow of feeble attempts

to brighten the world with a humble wick.

 

Cyclical dance that eliminates more than illuminates—

A rival of the dying Edison bulb

swinging from the antique shop door.

 

How can night blind the light?

The glint is never enough to expel all darkness,

unless it's steady enough to grow.

 

Ash to ember, ember to smolder—

Smoldering wax formed by feeble hands and eerie lamplight.

One more strike and the blaze takes a breath.

 

The air is life—

Churning inside the strength to keep burning,

despite the darkness that forever surrounds.

 

Candle, keep your vigil.

Long past daylight bookkeeping and nighttime terrors,

into daydreams and candlelight dinners.

 

Never forget your purpose—

Fanning flame, in spite of it all, to embrace the heat

and trust the process of living as fire.

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