The Lantern

There is cliché in a light

that guides, a beacon

or spotlight or lighthouse

or porch lamp or sun

or moon or stars—

odes have been written unending

in the search for a lantern

to be held aloft in the moment

of darkness, to cast forward

into the abyss and come crashing

down with some sort of truth

or revelation of the illumination

inherent in creating light, appreciating light,

soaking up the light when psychological

vampires hover just outside the ring

of flame and drool over heartbeats

quickened by fear of the unknown

and what it means to silly humans who

forever give names to each part

of a machine, however simple it might be:

burner, wick, fount, tank, lever, cap, globe—

inspiration doesn’t strike as easy as a match

not even when the fire is provided

in a moment of clarity, notwithstanding

the battle it took us to simply get here

from where we started out

and, in the end, there might not be

a lantern to guide us through the darkness

we face, metaphorical or not—

but there will still be what comes forward

into the future, and that thing is hope

a hope that fills, a hope that sustains

a hope that nourishes the lone flame

that burns within us

and despite us.