AbhayA million people standing still
Gaze at the figure atop the hill.
“She fancies herself a hero!” one man snickers.
And they all laugh as the candles flicker.
“She’s a fool like the rest, and she’ll soon be dead!”
But the figure stands strong, prepared for dangers ahead.
The hands hit twelve, and bells toll the hour.
Laughter dies, and the mood turns dour.
Fearful, frightful, sullen crowds,
Thundering, threatening, stormy clouds.
A ghastly, growing, dreadful roar,
And cowering shadows, afraid to see more.
The figure shudders, afraid of the night,
But never, ever, loses the will to fight.
And as darkness closes, we all lose sight,
Of everything but the hero’s light.
A single candle that burns alone
Lighting the world on its own.
