CANDLE

CANDLE

If I lit a candle,
For every last betrayal,

Every night that love hung over,
Perched upon my windowsill.

I could steal from the till
And a fortune amass,
And retire from my daily dilemmas at last.

If I lit a candle
For every stray I’ve intercepted,
Every sob story I’ve collected,

I could light each corner
Of this most unfortunate land
And die in my sleep at a ripe old age
A most contented man.

If I lit every candle and burned every fuse
Of all the tragedies I did not choose
Of all the comedies that did not amuse.
My opera glass would lie broken on the floor
And the players would all beseech me on their knees
And have to take a day job to feed their families.

If I lit a candle,
I might not curse the darkness so.
I might feel better, but who knows?
And so I wait in the dark of night,
Cursing my drives and my appetites.
Folding my cards before they are played,
Deigning not to light a candle
On this the darkest of my days.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED