On a sparkled night such as this
time shines through prisms of crowded of stars.
Somewhere, a little window frames the vast
cruel winter’s eternal night,
on the sill a solitary candle
soft glows gold halo – beacon-bright.
Faint hope glimmers a gentle thrill
from faraway-faraway yonder. Light spills.
Tiny flame passes through danger, dark ages of time,
from wanderer to wanderer,
from their hands – to your hands,
from yours – to mine.
From hand – to bone – to star –
to dust-sprinkled shadows’ desolate hearts.
Memory attunes to distant chimes,
long gone prayers, long gone times
remembered in flicker, rekindled in spark,
secret code pulsing the dark.
Bleak. Bleak. Bright.
Bleak. Bleak. Bright.
Here – Safe haven – See –
The Light.
Rhona Greene, December 2021
Thank you to Rhona for this lovely poem. Rhona is an emerging human being trying to kilter, off balance. She/her. Dedicated follower of poetry. Is rón mé. Be Kind. Dublin, Ireland. She tweets from @Rhona_Greene.
Some people like a little background to their poetry, and some don’t. If you do like a little background, Rhona gave me this:
For a little background context you might be interested in – There is an old tradition in Ireland of lighting a candle in the window on Christmas Eve. The origins trace back to the 17th Century Penal Laws when the Catholic religion was suppressed and priests went on the run in fear for their lives. The candle was code to them and others that this was a safe house and the door was always left unlocked. The tradition continues even if many now don’t remember the reasons behind it. It is still a beautiful symbol of an Irish welcome ‘fáilte isteach’ – ‘welcome inside’.
We all deserve such a welcome.