The Light You Lit

I almost set the pen down and you placed light back in my hand. Thank you.

I do not open easily,

not the parts the world can see.

Guarded walls, a heart unsure,

after storms that shook the core.

Gratitude has sat inside,

quiet, patient, never cried.

Vulnerability, a tongue I lack,

words tiptoe, then fall back.

But your lines came soft, then strong,

they pried the door I closed too long.

You did not push, you did not steer,

you wrote beside me, drew me near.

Tired, worn, I nearly fell,

ready to silence my own spell.

Then a light, gentle, steady, bright,

broke the shadow, pierced the night.

Enough to say my voice remains,

the pen still burns in my veins.

You struck the match, I felt the flame,

I hold it now, and call its name.

For patience, faith, the quiet gift,

for the steady light you chose to lift,

I am grateful, every bit,

for the spark you sparked, the light you lit.

Author's Note

For the light that reminded me why I write.

Reviews

[Brandon Houser]

This is very touching.
Every once in a while we need reminders of why we live and why we are drawn to the things we are. We writers especially. We live, and feel everything, for good or ill. The gift is evident in this heartfelt piece, and many others you have shared on here. Your voice and pen have plenty more to share.

[Richard🖌]

Mm, Grace … sighhh⁓*

One would be so wondrously inclined to gratefully bow to both whatsoever, whomsoever 'twas placed that searing light back into your hand, heart, and mind, and that immeasurably enthralling pen it was laid beside and bade it dance lively upon and vibrantly risen off the page onto a bard's swooning lips.

Alas, how painfully the damaged, tender heart seeks shelter from its ravaging storm, and how frighteningly reluctant to emerge back into love's luring fray … yet, the heart (who's had it) well knows and wants what it wants; and, naught shall stand in its way once its passions rise from the ashes like the blazing Phoenix of a sultry woman's breast … and damn, Poetess, I cherish the thrilling selection of that gorgeously enchanting artwork; ohhh-MY … sheer perfection!

"Enough to say my voice remains,
the pen still burns (within) my veins. (rhythm 'n imagery)
You struck the match, I felt the flame,
I hold it now, and call its name!"

(SHEESH! What a phenomenal poetic voice you sing with!)
Still, that stanza is not the only highlight … there flare unquenched flames amidst them all.

Lest I wear my welcome, Dear Grace, I'll close with a low sweeping bow of my grateful chapeau, and a warm hug of thanks for refilling that discouraged ol' pen with a generous pinch of stardusted ink! ⁓ Richard🖌

[Amy R]

This poem is quite a powerful write, loved the way it flowed, and the ending, WOW.
Beautifully expressed, .Thanks for sharing.
~Amy