Eight Days the Light Continued on Its Own
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Eight days the light continued on
its own: A miracle, they say, but not more so Than ordinary lives of flesh and bone, Consuming wicks burned ashen long ago. Within there is a mystic lake of fire, Fuel-less energy, power uncelled, Unmeasured fount of obstinate desire, Hope burning, where no hope was ever held. Invisible source of all that's seen or seeing, Unseen light that animates the void; Unlit spark of indivisible Being, Shard of One that cannot be destroyed: To be so vast a miracle till death Is why we struggle fiercely for each breath. Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use. |