The silence of this house settles forgivingly and the tension along my neck and shoulders eases. I touch the wicks of the candles upon the altar of my memories and ponder living forever.
Strike the match, inhale the scent of fire and live eternally in the moment of incineration. Become mesmerized by the soft flame imprisoned by its source of power.
Upon the altar of the church where I kneel and pray the candles burn steady and are placed there by faith. Faith defeats fear.
Who has formed you? Who has made you so that I may lift my right hand and place is directly over your heart without thought but in need?
The palm of my hand upon your steady beat. I touch tenderly your skin in days of trouble, touch that cannot last forever but does.
We are centuries apart for I live deep in the past. I am falling further away, into cold stone towers and mullioned windows and baptized kings.
I read the words by candlelight and think of you and push you away. I may never finish what I have begun but I have begun what must be finished.
Love in the strangest sense. I dream of washing your feet in the warm saltwater that lulls you to sleep with the lifting of burden and awakens you in the morning with passion.
Have you ever waited for the inevitable pain of heartache? The sureness of its weight before it tumbles down upon your heart?
Then light a candle for me watch the flame flicker and hold upon the impossible tip and dream of the warmth of wave upon wave surrounding us in dark, safe eternity.
Passion is certain in any of us yet it is the open mind that soothes the soul. I light the candle and wash your feet, spelling out words that you arrange for me.
So who has made you, who has placed your heart within my reach, who has formed the clay that forms the walls that contain me?