The Lighted Flame
By William Mathews
In blackened hills the clouds pile on
Buried, entombed under open skies
Chokes back the stars for which belong
In the air where the owls fly
In the hills dark as pitch
Life still moves with burning eyes
Illuminated like a guiding witch
To find the paths not traveled by the “civilized”
In the dark are spots of light
Under heavy clouds are refuges of rest
In the darkest times are hopes still bright|
In the soul, magic nests
Find your hope
Reach for it
Pull it down
The flame is lit
