This tallow heart

This tallow heart                                                                                              
 
This tallow heart in which has lodged
over a lifetime every hurt, shame and fret,
 
You have incised, dug out and lighted
the buried wick, urging me
 
to become the flame consuming itself.
It’s spearhead blade trimming away the dross,
 
severing the past, slicing readily into the future,
clean, votive, free and steady
 
as it melts down the heft of me                   
to reach a condition worthy of offering.
 
The soft hiss of the candle-flame
to the heart’s ear is a muted roar,
 
drowning out the clamor of temptation,
judgment, guilt and fear.
 
O child of God, consider yourself a flame,
purified each moment by the grace of God.