The torch is lit.
The torch glows.
The torch blazes.
The torch grows.
The torch glowed brightest,
Just before the dawn.
Bright, shiny faces,
The light shown on.
The torch casts shadows.
The torch pushes darkness back.
The wayward wanderer
Can lose their track.
The torch is fueled.
The torch has a last, lusting burst.
Its flame is a hunger.
Its flame is a thirst.
The torch is held high,
Or becomes extinguished.
The torch, a spark for the years,
Or a relic which languished.
A challenge to meet,
A pride to hold.
A chance to Gather,
A call, “Be Brave, Be Bold!”
Once young, growing old,
A chance for truth.
Parry and thrust,
Gray hair and youth.
Hard to rekindle,
Once cold and gone.
Closeness of Gathering,
Gone long before dawn.
When light has dimmed,
For that once yearned.
By taking the torch,
Fears of being burned.
Thoughts once held,
Repressed and forgotten.
By taking the torch,
New thoughts begotten.
Fuel and spark,
Smoky flames need fresh air.
If not, flames die,
At which all stare.
The torch is a glowing beacon,
Or a tiny ember, allowed to end.
Was the message held?
Did the receiver not send?
Was the word kept?
Were the thoughts held true?
Were truths the truth,
Or just a nice view?
Left in the shadows,
Only ashes in the view.
Offered to offer,
But caught by who?
Breaths of life.
Who now lights the way?
Who are the Pathfinders?
Who stands to say?

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