When I look inside,
What do I see?
A candle burning brightly,
Flickering like a bee.
A lonely sight,
A flame without much light,
In a darkened cavern,
A shadow-show in a tavern.
When emotions tear me apart,
When feelings break open my heart,
Its light awakens the stillness,
The stillness curses the darkness.
In my darkest hour,
That candle has some power.
The light of the candle is but brief;
But the candle’s halo inspires belief.
The candle mimics an inner voice,
Offering me the remnants of simple choice,
To examine my options with honest precision,
To find myself making the right decision.
Who holds the candle within me?
This is a mystery yet to unfold.
The flame can light a thousand wicks,
And shines without being told.
Yes, the candle is held within me.
And within me is the deepest night.
It shines of its own accord,
Turning the night within the deepest bright.
I wrote a poem about a candle that was burning on my table at home. A story came to mind and I put it here in Authorsden. It is called "Candle of Love', this poem reminds me of my work I loved your write
I CALL THAT CANDLE 'GOD'S SPIRIT', HIS LOVE FOR US, WHICH WE CAN DO NOTHING ABOUT, PLACED IT THERE...WITHIN. THANKS FOR SHARING, JOHN. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
Poetry. Various urgent, lively, and sometimes haunting poems appear here alongside stark black and white photos of Jones' homeless subjects. Jones takes on the plight of the homeless in different voices, echoing the thoughts of people on the streets,
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Kathy