Beacon

By
A lamp stands dark in the blackness of eternity
A white and pristine tower of certainty in a chaotic world
No shade dampens its glow
And no shadow eats its flame
‘Till a lone apple falls and defuses its ethereal blaze
The shade seeps farther across the flame,
Smoldering the holy inferno,
‘Till the hallowed flare
Was nothing but a small prick of light
In the shape of a cross.





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