The Flame

A dark grey silent world

concrete, conformist, cold

Sometimes a flicker of warmth creeps in

Sometimes it breathes hope

Sometimes it smothers and dies

Under the weight of the combined credo - conform

Sometimes the flame is

bright and fascinating and dangerous

Like moths, the grey gather

and in one mighty conflagration

It consumes all in sight

Sometimes the flame is

warmth and hope and dreams

until it smothers and dies

Drained by the unanswerable demands

of the masses of the hopeless

And sometimes...no, just once

It was you

A smile that warmed the day

A twinkle that lit the night

A lesson from the heart

Of love and truth

and fear keeping us apart

Your flame healed

You reached inside

You found the essence

near or far the beacon was there

no charge, no cost

You didn't lie or judge

You were our flickering hope

that all wasn't lost

Did we take too much?

Did you need that strength

that warmth, that gift?

Is it too late to give something back?

Could we ever stop taking..

Could we pause and reflect

and simply say thankyou

its cold out now

silent, concrete and grey

I'll not be a moth

I'll not smother that flame

I'll remember

and near or far

I'll follow the beacon