Count the carbons

fifteen, twenty, twenty-five

yes, linked, bound, binding

together into a cold set.

 

Useless,

until fire

lights me,

then, 

 

Burning coldly

casting our amber light

into rooms.

 

But what of it?

who counts the candle

save a monestery

pressing prayers into his hands

 

lighting,

extinguishing and lighting again.

 

day after day.

 

when I’m burned out

spilling my liquid

useless short wick,

 

then I’m waste

just that collection 

of carbon refuge.

 

 

Dave Barber

Collection:  Natural Laws

 

20 Nov 08

Advertisements