SAINT ELMO’S FIRE

There is a fire deep on

the hill.

It’s radiant glow illuminates us

all.

We stand and watch,

we talk and walk, we look

and run away.

Never knowing the fire will

not come this way.

The cold seeps deep into

our bones,

as if we were

distant from the sun,

the wind unfolds,

blowing our

dreams away.

For now the sky is the

color of winter and ash.

Our clothes tattered,

our faces worn,

our words become like frozen

arrows that fall harmlessly

to the ground.

Our tender touch is delivered through

layered gloves ,

our eyes see only

the darkness inside.

We pass this way and that,

leaving no trace.

We howl like

wounded wolfs,

beat our empty chest

and build cathedrals side by side;

build them so high they

blot out the sky.

Then we fill them

with our silent

hearts

proclaiming;

“Welcome friends,

Welcome home.”

I stood and watched,

only to see a mirrored

image of me.

Turning away;

I stare at the

fire on the hill, I think that

I shall journey that way.

I watch as I slowly walk

away.