Candles 

They gave us candles

When our hands couldn’t

Hold,

Could only reach and

Grasp them,

With dimples and paint

Splatters and dirt stains

On our hands, only fitting

Into the palms of our

Fathers.

We held the candles

Clumsily

As the light dripped down like

Seeping honey from our hands.

Then we grew.

As we grew people

Stopped

Giving us candles

As we stopped accepting them

In a search for

Independence.

Scrambling in the darkness,

Afraid of the shadows,

As our eyes strained

Towards the light.

We searched for candles

On our own,

Striking matches that

Would only burn out;

Frantically striking,

Searching for a

Light that we could

Have for ourselves.

Then we find a

Candle

Fitting perfectly

In our hands,

The wax melting over

Our fingers,

The flame reflecting in

Our eyes.

Then the hands of our children,

That fit in ours,

Reach for the candles that

We give to them.

    
   

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