For the first time in a long time I’m putting my hand to poetry, and sharing it over at SheLoves Magazine today.
♦
When that fire burns, I forget that this light of mine – it is small;
A flickering, dying light, kept alight by sure, surrounding hands,
But small nonetheless;
I am not the light of the world,
Though I do get to take part;
I get to carry my own,
Though it needs to be tended, and so, I force myself
To remember to stop. Habitually stop. Before the light is smothered.
I must burn, but not burn up.
Roar, but not rage.
Smoulder, but not go out.
Flicker, but not be quenched.
♦
Check out the full poem, “The Fire,” over at SheLoves Magazine!
