Candle on the Crest
By B.K. Lawson
You’ve left it, a corpse still sobbing
in open festering wounds,
not naked,
but well-dressed in dull complaints.
Your gown now glimmers
in a pretty shade of marmalade,
sweet with satisfaction
that the struggle happened.
Now the concentration
alights in the evening sky,
and the round glow of necessity
reminds you to look closer.
At the bottom, the feet are flat,
the eyes ready to turn to focus.
You hear a voice whispering, above, below:
Every man may meet his mount
and see himself upon it,
for it is because we can become
whatever our hearts imagine.
To see the mount is understanding,
and her upon it, transcending,
because the self now knows its whole
there again, in ivory gown,
centered in lamp-lit operated ink,
noting the lessons of experience
in gentle glory, because her power
is in His peace.
She watches you.
She’s seen you in your dastard heap
and waits for your decision to begin
the climb of clarity.
You do, but it is no easy task.
The skyward earth is taxing,
requiring the shedding of dead habits
so that the body and mind come closer.
The wind is ice, bitter in your eyes,
watching her until she stands.
She sees that you are coming.
She holds out her hands.
She will not aid the grapple—
not until you’re touching her;
not because she doesn’t want to,
but because the hardship is for you.
Finally, you grasp the summit,
and all is silent, the air is still.
The final push takes your breath,
and your mind is easy, coherent, clear.
What have you done without me?
she asks, shining, just above you.
I lived a lie so that I could die
and find you in the true within.
The journey makes the kinship.
You have seen me in your dreams,
and just when you thought you didn’t know,
you’d hear me whispering, softly.
We do not have to be apart.
Forever I am yours,
for I am your vision
of the power to become and be.
Together, you take hands
and walk to the lighted table.
You read her little notes,
laughing to yourself.
When you finish,
you find that she is gone.
The gown you wear is no longer
its previous orange shade.
It is, rather, a creamy ivory,
just as she had before—
glowing in a honey sparkle
of ribbons from neck to floor.
So, you sit there in the evening
and all through the night.
Your heart feels the gentle calmness
of knowing of Love’s Light.
When the morning comes,
you’ll take a walk to consider what is next,
but for now, you breathe with chest aglow
as a candle on the crest.
From The Mountains Here Are Showing Poetry Collection
