The Lantern of Hollow Glass

They come with halos finely spun, A voice that hums like distant spheres; They speak of light, yet shun the sun— The silence where the truth appears. Their words are spun from half‑truths bright, A gilded cage with open doors; They call it love, but mean their right To stand where only Source should be adored. They’ll tell you that your soul is theirs, That wings can grow but not alone; And bind you with unspoken prayers That drain the marrow from your own. They wear the cloak of humility, Yet flinch when someone speaks their name; A god grown frail from vanity, Afraid to step out of its frame. The teachings shimmer, sweet and deep, But in the root a bitter seed— The fruit that feeds their need to keep Your seeking bound to their own need. Ask them of shadow, they will say, “There is no shadow, only light”— While hidden debts of pride hold sway In rooms they keep from mortal sight. So test the lantern, hold it close: Does it burn warm or leave you cold? Does it demand you abdicate The sacred voice your heart can hold? True Light will bless the seed it plants Then step aside, let it take root. False Light will ask for all your grants And call its hunger “the pursuit.”