I write poetry because some of the poems that I want to read are yet to be written.
Saturday, 17 April 2010
The Vigil Candle
Dedicated to Raymond Frederick Bird
Lines written as I watched the candle we lit after my father's death, at the same time as the Easter Vigil candle burnt.
His candle breathes a soft demise
And we remember,
With rich reflected bright in eyes;
Tears without number.
And streams of pallid white shall run
Where fire has fed,
Each flicker beats for hearts undone,
And Father dead.
I saw his chord was running low,
The wax was waning;
Alike to breath becomming slow,
And time complaining.
But Mother brought a newer stick.
Her love eternal;
And shared his spark; from living wick
Bore love paternal.
Light ended: wax grew cold bereft,
But fire still shone;
Amidst the grief of children left
His flame lives on.
Our decades shall be blessed, well warmed,
With light begotten,
When wicks once met a gift was formed
And not forgotten.
Rich years will once again make whole
These tender hours;
Our minds regain the love death stole,
Reclaim our powers.
But we shall not forget the soul
Whose fire lit ours.
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