The Candlemaker by Renee Levinson

Cold, formless, void, without purpose,
The wax lies on the workbench,
Waiting for the chance to light the world.

Shaping, molding, melting, reforming,
The candlemaker works the craft,
Racing Father time, the wax will harden.

With bare hands,
Callused with years of creativity,
And failed attempts,
Works throughout the night,
Before the chance, the vision has been lost.

There are never any debts of gratitude paid,
The candlemaker goes on selflessly,
Creating light from darkness,
An art, God-like in it's depth of consequence.

Just as sure as the start of a new day,
More wax lies on the workbench,
Waiting for a chance to light the world,
And it is the candlemaker we have to thank for that light.



Poetry - Main

Copyright(c)1998 Renee Levinson