~▪︎~
No, it is not a mere candle to me;
Not an insignificant flame flickering in the wind.
It is the glimmer of hope in the ocean of darkness.
A glimmer of god in the hell of pain.
A glimmer of truth in the lies of reality.
A glimmer of warmth in the dead silence.
It is the glimpse of a bright future, waiting patiently,
Beside my diary soaked in tears and ink,
Carrying the chronicles of resilience and survival.
No, it is not a mere candle to me.
It is the silver lining of the damp days,
Nurturing the dreams of poets like me,
Igniting ideas of freedom and change.
It is a drop of water in the heat of the desert.
The angel of the time, when the moon sleeps,
And the heart weeps, but the mind is free.
Free of the blazing sun and the graves of ice
No, it is not a mere candle to me.
~▪︎~
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Cottage Chronicles
PoetryLife's chronicles from love, sorrow, anger, guilt, shame, happiness buried in a poetic cipher. Would you like some words and wine, on wooden floorboards? ©️ Feronia Grey
