Day Ten: A month of poetry for Brighid

A Candle

The flame rolls like a coin between my fingers,
Fluttering, flickering in its dance
And yet the brightness of the flame still lingers
And holds me in a trance.

I stare into a bright void
And find it filling up with me.
Its tall hot thorn leaps up the more I look;
The more I look the more there is to see
And be enjoyed.

The spirit stands straight and tall,
A solemn soldier keeping nightly guard,
Or else a bright-eyed student burning hard
At both ends of his candle.

How is it that the coolest color burns the hottest?
Most-burning fire glows a watery blue,
Whose tinted blaze of old in azure hue
Signifies some supernatural guest.

You draw my gaze
And burn my eyes;
Fill my vision when my eyes are closed.

In a daze
To my surprise
I feel myself exposed.