The Elders

The light is fading, escaping on torches carried by the elders.
They leave this place in darkness, shrouded by fog, at the mercy of the shadows.
We huddle in corners, under bed clothes, afraid without them to guide us.
A few brave ones try to light new torches, but shaking hands drop flint and steel.
One elder remains, watching us beg and plead for guidance and support.
Her light flares, reaching brilliant tongues to the torches in our hands.
Not all keep the light, fear causing the meek to drop torches, losing the fire.
Others hold their torches in wonder, knowing now that they have become the guides.

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