With curtains drawn,
A final yawn
Salutes the light's retreat.
But without warn
The light's re-born
And standing at my feet.

I look upon
This eidelon
And wonder whence it came.
But then it's gone
And where it shone
There stands a violet flame.

It has no heat,
No crackling beat,
But still I feel its force.
Though incomplete,
The form accretes
To bear its tine androrse.

In doubt, it dies.
Devout, it flies;
I ask why this should be.
Then realise
Its induced size
Is solely up to me.

With everyday,
The more I pray,
The more the flame expands.
And grow it may,
For I won't stray
When faith is in my hands.