How that flicker
captures my gaze
in such a delicate hold.

I've seen your gentle dance near the alter,
in hidden corners brightened by your glow,
with angels peering down
upon my unworthy head.

And I've witnessed it on TV,
in the cupped hands of those who stand
in solidarity,
in defiance,
in eternal memory.

And there you are now,
so tiny on my desk,
pure,
casting your warm luminescence
upon my fingers as I finish this poem.

Are my words worthy of your graceful presence?
I think not.
I know not.

A flame is like a perfect circle.
Or a rainbow after an afternoon shower.
Its form is flawless.
Limitless.
Divine.

Light showcased in its greatest glory.

"Tiny Flame" (c) 2016 by Vincent Lowry