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Spirit Wicks
by Max BouilletThere are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or
the mirror that reflects it.
--Edith Wharton (1862 - 1937)
Memories melt
into the wax
of our soul.
Our senses are wicks
that hold the fire
that will eventually
consume us.
God was the guy
with the lighter. 01/29/2005 Posted on 01/30/2005
Copyright © 2024 Max Bouillet
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 01/30/05 at 07:00 AM *grin* again, makes perfect sense... yes, hmm... this is meant with utmost respect, and a little humour: i'm thinking of forming the Church of Max... just open the doors, pull up a chair, and use your brain... what a concept... blessings... |
| Posted by JD Clay on 01/30/05 at 04:21 PM With your amazing analogy you have taken the mundane and turned it into an exercise in evolutionary consciousness. And to imagine just how powerful and delicate the same flame truly is. I like the way you think, Max.
Pe4ce... |
| Posted by Melissa Arel on 01/30/05 at 09:33 PM Excellent, as always :) |
| Posted by Graeme Fielden on 01/31/05 at 12:17 PM Spiritually insightful Brother Max...another winner from your masterful pen! (keyboard?) ;) |
| Posted by Indigo Tempesta on 01/31/05 at 08:26 PM seems as much like a dig on philosophical-type poetry as a rumination. |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 02/02/05 at 12:31 AM Nice work Max...Charlie |
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