 Candle
A candle,
burning in the night,
bringing
warmth to the sanctuary.
The warmth ingendering
a place, a home—a space
less
imposing than a space without light.
A candle, burning in the night.
©1996 Sharon Terry
So Burned Completely is the Dross
That Pressed Me On
There
is a blank, there seems a void
That stands before me now.
I cannot ponder anymore.
I cannot hope; I cannot dream,
No longer plan, no longer scheme.
The time is now there is no scream
But only joy, or it would seem.
I touch the sky, I stand complete.
Do I have promises to keep?
They seem to flow so easily.
All seems so quiet,
This journey done within my soul.
As if the preparations, ready for the feast,
All servants rest in readiness for the guest.
With no impatience, only joy that he will
come
Not knowing yet just who he is or what he
brings.
Or is it I, am I the guest, do you suppose?
It does not matter, no excitement fills my
soul.
For what is done is done,
And what will be will be.
There is no paradox in that, oh don't you
see,
The paradox lies in the joy of being me,
The pure and simple joy of who I am
Without the drives, the goals, the hopes,
the cares
That man does press upon his soul
To make him who he cannot be
And kill the who he is within.
I stand complete within my soul
Without the knowledge of where I go,
With only knowledge of where I've come,
And how the journey's led me on.
No fire within my heart does burn
So burned completely is the dross that pressed
me on.
©1989 Sharon Terry
|
