A candle in Advent

The candle is alight,
its solitary flame
licking cavernous darkness.

The candle is a light,
drawing the eyes
like moths to its magnet brightness.

The candle is waving,
its glowing hand
a beckoning beacon
to contemplation.

The candle’s light,
a star-drawn punctuation,
a drawn sword
in the evening shadows.

The candle flame
a bright-light baton
rising like incense
and hands at prayer.

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