Candles Never Lit

Candles Never Lit Wicks held captive Or perhaps Protected Embryos held in tethered limbo What shall the flame's first breath be Beneath a citadel of worship A first birthday A stealth venture into the attic An exploration through one's innate catacombs Experienced alone Life's simple tool made company Exploring rooms of discovery A comfort-place of isolation Where one's dreams One's fears Remain ever faithful to light's purpose For just as birth bears but singular reality So too the limpid string Encased in its molten nativity Made hard To last Is used As the grounding The tool enabling serene freedom Glimmer's heat Radiance flickering One's ethereal passion Seeks no object to burn No identity to possess But solely to be The candle's flame But for imagining Dreams of no restrictions Just as the child sees everything as natural Just as the shimmer of what can be Is Except for those who... Only beholden to the consent Of one's creativity One's willingness to burn fully Then accept the dimming For the moment Having expended its full radiance For now But remaining ever ready for the next lighting How sad Those boxed candles never lit Knowing never of their purpose