A Candle For Your Thoughts

The path was laid, the buildings built,
the cakes were baked, the clothes were made,
the cars went past on spinning wheels,
the shoes were stitched, designed and heeled.
Who was it that produced all this;
the candles in the restaurants serving bliss.

The clouds spun past the steepled sky,
the moon shone bright as they went by,
and in the broken spaces rent,
the far flung stars shone across the firmament.
Who was it that produced all this;
the candles in the heavens shining bliss.

The people passed bedecked with robes,
some walked fast, some thoughtfully strolled,
some looked out, some looked within,
some looked at me, some looked grim.
Who was it that produced all this;
the candles in the eyes reflecting bliss.

The candles' flames merged in the mind,
and in the merging spoke in chimes.
The flame spread wide enfolding all,
who was there left with need to ask.
Who is it that produced all this;
That candle, only source of bliss.

by David Taylor

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