The Eternal Lantern

The lantern stands where roads converge,

its flame the heart, its glow the surge.

It has no master, wears no chain,

yet lights the lost through night and rain.

It burns for grief, it burns for song,

it burns for all who walk too long.

Its glass is cracked, its handle worn,

yet brighter still than when first born.

The shadows bow, the stars lean near,

the earth remembers why it’s here.

The flame is small, but more than fire—

it carries ash, it carries choir.

It whispers: all that hides will show,

all roots will rise, all streams will flow.

The dark is not the end of flame,

the light is not a fleeting name.

So night and day, so loss and breath,

so love and silence, life and death—

the lantern keeps them, every one:

a single flame, a thousand suns.