The First Candle (The Candle of Prophecy/Hope)
Advent candle #1
In grey and rainy preparation
clouded days preoccupy.
Trees are mourning their lost finery,
birds flee or prepare for hard times.
Day follows day, treading weary paths,
a joyless melancholic procession,
boughs drip metronomic tears
muddy blankets hide spring’s birthright.
Bones chilled, cheeks besieged by gust and gale,
eyes become refugees daring only to peer
from squinting grimaces.
Beauty hides, bereaved, crest-fallen.
From such dismal obsession the season
promises Light for darkened hearts,
merry dances for weary feet
carolling into heraldic wonder.
Candle one: hope and prophecy
stout sentries guarding hearts from
fear’s incessant onslaught.
A small light in the abyss of darkness
tilting at the windmill of reality,
whistling in the wind.
A multitude of stars hide in nightly clouds
jostling for position to proclaim
the appointed
time
when their light is outshined.
Keith Wallis
