V. The Lantern Veiled

A lantern burns, but cloth is drawn,

its flame made soft, its edges wan.

The glow is there, but dimly shown,

a secret fire that breathes alone.

The veil does not deny its spark,

but teaches light the grace of dark.

Too fierce a blaze would blind the eyes;

disguise allows the truth to rise.

I hold this lantern in my hand,

its shadow stretching over land.

It whispers low: to guard, to hide,

is not to falter, but abide.

For hidden light is still a guide,

a soul kept safe, a flame supplied.

The mask protects, the veil sustains,

the glow endures, though bound by chains.

And when the cloth at last is torn,

the night itself will see it burn.