Packing down to journey's end,
The road draws quickly short,
All patient things will wait for more,
But now their faces seal and steele.

I like a gentle blue,
That treads along the edge of green,
And sets for muted hues instead,
A blue thats murky then untamed,
A vibrant tropic depth beneath,

It wanders besides dispassionate orange,
Lightly wound like barricade tape,
Into itself till hotness boils,
At edges frayed and licked with blue,
This hotness drains and leaves a fiery stillness mute,

They seem to brush but never mix,
They seem to dance but never to a tune,
They seem to leap about but crash and sway at the extent of the other,
I like a gentle blue,
And dear ochre that joins it in its waiting.

The wax drips,
Lining its heated brow,
Dripping from the edge of its gaze,
Snaking round its neck,
And pooling on it's collar.

A crown of radiance,
Sits gloriously above.

It grows shorter day by day,
Dropping down, and down,
Then down some more,
Till it falls among the lowly lights,
They had been in darkness,
Long extinguished.

Then it comes,
A new light to those chained in death.

It descendes deeper still,
A glowing pool in its wake,
Dull and dead,
And darkness seems to hide its face,
And the storms still.

In the dead of night,
A quiet ember slips,
Igniting these lowly lights again,
In a cloud of flame and praise abundant,
A light for all who know their plight.

Again a crown of radiance sits,
Gloriously above and higher still.