Flame to wick, flame to wick,
from hand to hand
until the circle in the church
was a flickering ring,
a delicate thing,
and we began to softly sing
silent night, holy night.
And half a world away
in manger square
the pilgrims cradled
their candles and rejoiced.
In other homes that night
the candles in menorahs
were lit and songs
were sung as well.
I've lit yellow candles
in buddha caves and temples
to honor that other man
of peace and wisdom.
This is what candles are for,
birthday parties, romantic dinners,
worshipful ceremony, and maybe
the occasional power outage.
But have we not seen
enough candles, flowers
and teddy bears
on sidewalks?
If wishes are granted
when we blow them out,
my wishes now will always be:
No more cold wax congealed
beside wilted blooms
and smiling snapshots
marooned on sidewalks.
