Holy Crossing

What is this that calls me to write above ceilings, in alleyways, in the most hidden of spaces you always come to me. i seize you and express hidden messages. they, the people, call it poetry beautiful may be but your words are beyond what catches the eye; no apple, no roses in their prime flamboyance, i hold you like i hold the flame in your darkest hour. it illuminates even the saddest of broken smiles. your candlelight reflections are somber with infinite direction. you hold me in place, like the sun holds its constituents. i vow to keep the sacrifice alive. my arms may tire, but they haven't bled their cause. i see you and i hope you see me.