Tangerine candlelight

Think of a situation, any situation.
Sit by, lie by, to watch it unfurl
Behind your eyes, as a movie winds on,
Taking you places you wish it didn’t.

Have you ever turned off a light,
And 10 minutes later noticed,
In the corner of your eye,
The remnants of its shine?
But to look at the bulb –
It is black and cold.

Grace someone with deference,
And lie to him.
Because fate didn’t put us in their
Paths to flatter when we dislike;
Laugh when we cringe;
Like when we are indifferent –
At that moment.

In all of this, as in a movie,
As in a charade,
We seek truth.
It is a filthy, sad, sickening thing,
It is.

See light, though,
And wander to its source. Tread slowly,
Hands slightly ahead,
The body slanted to one side, knees bent,
Weight on knees. Wince through darkness,
But there is nothing to fear.

The trees around you are warm;
The air is soft; the path is wide.
There is great comfort,
And this is no lie.

Yet it is a funny thing,
This light,
Because it stays equally away.
You tread this way, reveling, admiring,
Laughing, loving, discovering,
While treading softly, courteously, mindfully.
This is pleasure,
Yet light is ubiquitous, mocking, goading.

Suddenly, you come upon the source;
It is closer now.
A warm, yellow glow of a lantern
Hanging over the entrance to a pub.
The lantern is thrashing in the wind,
Which brings invisible cold.

On a cold night, the pub should be full, no?
But no light in pub.
Only a tangerine candlelight,
With windows of ease,
Come look at me please.
And have it for now or later indeed.
For it is a ripe thing for such a plausible need.
In fact, the windows are black.

Gaze upon them,
And see the wild, yellow, ball of light,
Tossing around furiously till,
With a gust, not strong but very cold,
It goes out.

There are only stars for light now.
Ahh . . . look how far away they are!
Too far for me – too far for anyone –
But I will go anyway.