A Candle in the Darkness


It’s dark outside and lonely, 

the wind whispering through the trees

seems to make fun of my silence.

The gentle patter of water against pavement,

a laughing prod at my deserted heart.

The moon, with her aching pull, is covered by clouds

and I am alone in the night, seemingly abandoned

with only darkness as my companion.

The storm doesn’t rage but inundates, insinuates itself

through hidden cracks and seeps through locked doors

to smother everything with the oppressive dark dampness.

The only cure seems to be the relentless tick tocking,

that talking voices echo with the same tired words 

but time is slave to no man, nor woman and plods on

slowly, as if too, stuck in the muddy moroseness of the moment

the future is distant, only dimly desired and and duly doubted.

But when hope like a bird of myth brought low seemed ready to die

a match was struck and a candle flickered on.

The light weak and wavering from side to side in the storm

and hands, unused to movement spring to the rescue

covering the coveted flame and capturing the meager light

which sparked the internal flames with with flickering dance

mirroring the freshly beating heart which drummed 

the ticking clock the metronome for the song of sadness being composed.

Not as a mourning dirge but as a celebration of life and experience

as I sit in the darkness holding a candle and waiting for the storm to pass. 


One thought on “A Candle in the Darkness

  1. “But when hope like a bird of myth brought low seemed ready to die
    a match was struck and a candle flickered on.”

    I was instantly drawn to this by the title. Candles carry much weight for me, especially in the dark. I encounter this in a particularly distressing time of life, and your words remind me to light a candle, hold it close, and to hope. It’s easy for a flame so frail to be snuffed out, but it is stubborn and can be awakened again and again. Thank you, for fanning it back to life as its flickering threatened to extinguish it completely. Well done, sir.

    The Scribbler

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