The Lighter

I’m reading the words of a dead writer,
Soft her voice sings new in my head.
Between the pages I find a lighter
To show the pathway to the dead.

How comes the light from this device?
She just hands me a piece of gold
For passage through this world of lies,
To warm my mind when it is cold.

With this, I wander through worlds of night,
Over mountain peak and ocean wave,
I’m lost and found in desert’s bright
And time for got is not for gave.

And the writer’s device to light the dead
Was stolen by her whose words I read.