Little Flames

It is never an inferno's blazing out of control that blinds,
which we fail to see in our soliloquies of deep retrospection,
rather the matches left unlit in the darkness of our fears and doubts,
never igniting the candles which gives life to one's fingers
when we scribble our essence upon the scroll of time
in layers of actions leaving their etched upon another's heart.

Words are a banner waving the breeze,
but if they are never hoisted beyond the saluting the wind,
nothing more rises in the day.

All thought can bring its song,
however, the writing the music in psalm of change
requires the dulcet harmony of commitment's composure.

Taking steps, through stumbling, uttering forgiveness
to those how cast their boulders in our way,
acceptance is the gauze that renews
until embrace the mirror as friend.

Incarnate is the breath of passion, which drinks the sunrise,
seeing shadows as places to bridge
instead of refuges in which to hide.

Taking a step in our minds, then walking in the way guided,
finding peace in the soiled rags worn as memories,
without letting them become chains.

Freedom to love oneself, gives flight to loving other,
strolling a desert lacking a compass
doesn't mean you must die of thirst
because we let pride silent our cries for help.

Bruised and battered, we all become,
celebrating every achievements with its mars,
will give a soul another reason to still run.