By Stephen Mead
Let wax burn the fingers, flow down
A raised arm. Along the way
It grows hard.
Here pain is nothing.
Even the skin doesn't flinch.
Listen. The flames whisper,
The candles tolling, baring names …
Cup flickers to steady hands.
Shelter warmth. Hear its heart?
This coarse pavement has a gut thump.
It's sung subtle, but is an anthem.
Struggle hones staying power,
Pervades closets, affirms life.
Strangers weathering
Hold your tapers.
Their light is our face.
Stephen Mead is a published artist/writer living in New York. The poem "Strangers Weathering" was eventually incorporated into the short art film "Quilt Suite," available on DVD from Indieflix.com .