The Flame

I saw a flame burning in a window of night;
singular it was and without a flickering glow.

I went inside its room without hesitation,
there too I found a silent darkness broken.

It was a darkness yearning for the flame,
its passion for silence keeping it distant.

Wondering what would happen, I blew on
it; nothing happened, the flame stood calm.

Alone with it, I picked it up into my hand,
it held its steady vigil centered in my palm.

Its brilliance revealing its crystalline soul,
a corpuscle of light unwavering in its faith.

I let it fly flipping it upward into the air,
only to discover there was no ceiling.

Up, up it went into the warming dark,
it seemed like it was going out of sight.

Soon it fell back in my outstretched palm,
more dazzling, illuminating without shining.

“This,” I said to myself, “is who we are.”

I let the flame be a beacon in my hand,
round and round burning, consuming dark.

Realizing all direction was met in the flame,
I gently placed it in my heart so I could see.

Breathing in today, it ignited itself in me,
and all around me I saw the room was full.

Faces appeared with bright happy eyes,
meeting in full measure a burning truth.

Seeing thus darkness lit up inside out,
a soft sound rose in each and everyone.

The flame filled the room with its light,
and a song from heaven freed the night.

©John Kadela