Burning Light

author’s note:

I recently learned that the term “aiding and abetting” is redundant.  Aiding is abetting.  However, to use both words together simply sounds better.

In the same way, I’m using the phrase “each and every one of us”.  Hopefully, the poem contains no other superfluous language.

“I praise what is truly alive,
  what longs to be burned to death.”
             --  Goethe


BURNING LIGHT

A long time ago,
I thought I heard someone call
from below decks
from the dungeon
from the storm shelter:
“More light!  We need
  more light!”

Being young and presumptuous
I assumed I was being summoned.
Reared on hero dreams
I would now accept the task
of raising the gas lantern
from the bottom of the ocean--

but the ocean seemed so cold
so deep
so...

below

and my toes wrinkle when wet
             so instead
I ran to any distant latitudinal point
that flickered a hope.

But this movement, this desire
seemed to snuff any potential light...

until one day, I looked down and found
a flame creeping up my coat sleeve.

Where could
that wildfire
have come from?

I then began to realize
how I was burning inside
when you don’t find the answers
you are consumed.  Fire enjoys impediments.
My own inferno had slowly
eaten through me.

Now when I hear the call
I hear the call within me.
Yet as I listen I can hear
that same voice
in the raging crowds
that scorch the streets--

I believe we all want
to get at something
that embers deeply--
something expressed
when we flare up.

Will this flame destroy me?
This light will only destroy
what needs to be destroyed
for my own safety.

“More light!”  I hear the cry
  from the temple shadows.

But I’ve already begged at many altars.
So now I see no other option
but to beg my own pardon.
To beg my own blessing.
To beg myself for the life
of my own famished flame.

© 2010, Michael R. Patton
myth steps