Keeper of the Torch
Oh keeper of the torch!
Why does the flame dwindle?
My son, I was once a great warrior.
I wear the scars of many battles.
With the sword of justice in one hand
and the shield of truth in the other,
I proudly defended the flame.
But time has wreaked havoc on my body
and I grow weaker with each passing day.
I can no longer defend the flame.
The shield has fallen from my hand.
Now, I merely stand vigil over the last flicker.
When the sword drops from my hand,
the flame will die as will I.
Oh keeper of the torch!
Can you not keep the flame alive
by passing the sword and shield to another?
This may have been true once, but no longer.
I have been to the edge of the great peak
in search of a soul equal to the task.
When I looked out over the edge,
I did not see a grand mass of humanity.
I saw stupid creatures wandering aimlessly
with no hope, no reason, and no direction,
like a herd of sheep in need of a shepherd.
I had a hard time finding this one after all these years. This was the first poem I ever wrote. It was written about twenty-three years ago and I cannot remember what was in my head when I wrote this poem, but it is vastly different from what I normally write.
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