A candle’s light.
At once weak and strong;
left to rove— it carves a path of destruction,
incinerates that which is built,
feeds on itself from the outside in
a space cleared for regeneration,
untamed.
Guarded by prayer, it blows out,
silenced,
smothered,
lost potentiality;
though made of heat and passion,
without fuel, it dies.
Yet still it can be built up,
cared for;
warmer of hearts and minds,
filler of bellies— sustenance—
supporter,
nurturer,
the eater and revealer of secrets,
guide through darkness, luminous.
Though solitary, small,
it is a beacon in the dark
tether to past and present;
a promise of tomorrow and
a reminder of all that we’ve tread upon
to get here; potential overlooked
a reminder of when we chose darkness
over light. That which was once convenient
illuminated by the promise of a new flame.
A could be.
A new possibility.
They gazed upon themselves by candle’s light
and dreamt of this day, when one of us
would rise up and slay;
foster clarity and truth;
elucidate the darkness
away. For one who dare see herself
(or himself or theirself) by a different light
by the light of the torch
those before had been carrying,
the promise:
That we were more than they’d ever seen before.
And you are more than we could have ever dreamed of.
In the incandescence of a new day, dare to
“see yourself in a way that others might not see you”.
Caia Rose 