Where the Lantern Is

The lantern was old, rusting at the edges

And around the loop anchored to my hand.

Somewhere the wind whirled through
The neck of the hourglass, stirring the sand and settling it into place again.
I press onward.

Villages, all dark, sit in the valley crevices
Like toy soldiers stripped of their weapons,
Once wearing uniforms—
Now wearing just the rotten remains of a failed existence.
So many lives.

The lantern screeched as it rocked at my side.

Every footstep carried pain and love,
Love and pain, as the oil burned:
The flame was pain and the light was love, both fighting for each other.
Fighting for them.

The villages grew in size as I drew nearer,
But the uniform they wore fit just the same.
The broken windows throughout were like gouged eyes
Keeping them here, trapped in this darkness like forgotten hostages,
Like remembered sins.

I set my lantern in the middle of the road,
Or perhaps it was the middle of a battlefield.
The light reflected itself in the broken panes of glass,
Pain and love dancing amid the shelter of light it had created for itself.
Bringing warmth again.

Slowly, a black substance crept through the village walls,
Emitting itself onto the ground in thick droplets
Gushing through every doorframe and crack
As if the structure itself were crying, begging for more of the light.
Slowly finding peace.

I left the light there, knowing there would be
More lanterns I needed to carry.
More villages that needed to see again.
The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness cannot understand it.
Maybe it understands now.

Copyright 2012 by Ashley Williams