In the night
I watch the candle flame
cast its flickering glow
through its own transluscence
A tiny flame
of light in the dark
of warmth in the cold
It dances to the breeze of the ceiling fan
as if fanning a spark of belief in my soul
A tiny flame
to show the way
to point the proper path
We need no raging fire to light the way
A tiny flame is enough
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
In the night
I watch the candle flame
cast its flickering glow
through its own transluscence
A tiny flame
of light in the dark
of warmth in the cold
It dances to the breeze of the ceiling fan
as if fanning a spark of belief in my soul
A tiny flame
to show the way
to point the proper path
We need no raging fire to light the way
A tiny flame is enough
Written in June 2000, a counterpoint to my poem of the conflagration witnessed at the hands of a wildfire in the Santa Monica Mountains.
I have read this in public on multiple occasions.
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