The End of Candles and of Tears

I remember, as a girl,
Watching Candleshoe
With my father; He cried.
I haven’t seen either since.

He’s dying.
I wish I could go
Back to that moment
And cry with him.

What I didn’t know yet
All I know now:
There is no one safe.
There is nowhere soft.

There are no guardians.
There are none who tend.
Only people who are hurting,
And the ones who hurt them.

My father swallowed himself.
My husband swallowed me.
The company drank up my love
Ruthlessly, remorselessly

Returning love with hate,
Refusing protection
Breaking my legs
When I most needed them.

And none of these
Were even about me.
I hide inside my own soul
Staring out at the passing days

Like a bus passenger watching out
At the scenery change
A bus that no longer stops;
There are no trusted stations.

My soul is a run-down cabin
That cannot protect from the elements.
In the inner room, I cup cold fingers
Around a small, flickering candle

The last remaining light of my faith
Battered and weak and alone
In the room, I keep silent vigil
To see if the light may outlive the night.

To mourn a thousand passings
To remember a tender thing
To grieve the innocence
Lost under the cold fist

Of arrogance and ambition,
Mercenary piracy,
Gnashing teeth and bony knuckles
The perpetual hunger for more.

The lost language
Of confession, repentance,
Sacrifice:
The core language of love.