Calling

Is there a flickering light within each of us?
transcendent, sacramental.
Our gifts whole, untainted,
a truth fighting to be fulfilled.

It can get buried in mirrors,
distorted, engorged,
pressed down in dark, hard rubble,
it hurts.
But does it burn there gently all the same?

Is there a path to tread,
a calling unique to be heard,
a persistent voice that niggles
when the distractions are laid down?

The flowers embody who they are,
they do what they must do,
they take their place in the beautiful song,
their role that can’t be done by anyone else.
Can we?