Held of a Precious Candlestick

I am as a candle
nearly extinguished in the mist,
compelled to commune with vampires,
by slothful avoidance
of reflective thought,
exalting myself as champion
of integrity
while only pretending
to resist gossip, slander and empty gloom.

What a troubled and dichotomous heart
which waddles among both
empathy and detachment,
seeking sanity and even serenity
yet melting into surrounding troubles.
Alone, the same heart
would anyway totter between
false peace and prideful activity,
and so it is with personal strength.

What hope can be
already is held by the Giver of all things,
and the witness and recipients
of the great gift of hope
know, at times, a deeper peace,
a fuller gratitude,
to the extent that impostors
are a source of anguish,
and only the authentic Author will do.