Candles

All the souvenirs on my desk and bookshelf,
all the postcards on my wall,
and all the posters too,
all that reminds me of places
that I have been to...
whether I've waded through them,
or they've waded through me...

doesn't matter,
because if my room was a church,
a temple of the Lord,
all those things would the candles be,
all bright with a delicate blaze,
and in harmony too

and if should my room
a church become...
...and all those postcards, posters, souvenirs
into candles be turned,
then the delicate blaze,
however delicate,
will burn me alive on the spot...

Like some heretic I will burn then,
(there are so many of them 'candles'!),
in body, I will be turned into ash,
in spirit too, but not because of them 'candles',
but because of something else -

- nobody ever asked me where I got each one from!