Lindy Thompson

There is a flame.
I know there is;
I have not forgotten
all the teachings.
My soul remembers,
yet my body labors in the mine,
head down,
back bent,
hands full.

The work,
poorly lit,
is not my best,
but I don’t stop.
I will not stop.
When I lose heart,
I will link arms with the saints,
let their strength carry me forward a few paces,
but I will not stop.
Giving up is not an option.

There is a flame.
I know there is.
Burning steadily,
a beacon for the wandering,
for the distracted,
for the worried.
Hidden in plain sight,
carried deep in all souls.

I have not forgotten.