Lantern Light

The wind is lost in the trees.

Somewhere ahead, a lantern burns —

a quiet heart of fire

swinging from the ribs of night.

...

I don’t know who lit it.

I only know I’m meant to follow.

...

The path is mud and thorn.

Every step bleeds the old belief from me —

the one that said light lives only in heaven.

But this one breathes on earth,

in my reach,

and it trembles like forgiveness.

...

Once, I prayed for thunder.

I prayed for signs carved into stone.

But the lantern answers softer —

a glow that says: Come as you are.

...

Its glass is cracked,

its flame nearly gone,

yet it keeps burning —

not to be seen,

but to see.

...

When I kneel beside it,

the darkness does not end.

It simply parts enough

for me to breathe again.

...

And maybe that’s what faith is —

not the fire,

but the finding...

Written in response to the “Lantern Light” Challenge, part of the Vocal+ Fall Poetry Series. This poem explores the search for faith and illumination, the quiet resilience of a light that continues to burn, even when belief feels lost.