It seems that I am to run.

Birth frees me from a type of prison, I suppose,

But the release comes with a false extasy.

I feel not unlike, perhaps,

One who has escaped a prison

Only to find themselves lost in a desert.

I proceed, I think.

 

I decide to stay.

The desert is, it seems,

If nothing else,

Warm.

When night arrives, though,

As it always does,

The bitter air stings my face.

I decide again to stay.

 

Time reveals to me that the night arrives;

It always does.

Nevertheless, I stay.

 

The night arrives,

As it always does.

I realize what I must do.

I know not what I seek,

But I've come to understand that

The night is not for me.

 

I don't like the darkness, I realize,

And so I abscond.

I forever chase the horizon,

Not expecting to reach it,

But knowing that to bask

Yes! to bask in a perpetual sunset;

This is for what I dream.

 

I seek the light.

I seek knowledge.

I know this, and this is my truth.

 

I know, too, that when the sun sets,

I will be sated in mind.

I will fall to the wind that now fills my sail;

I will reenforce it, as others do for me,

And I will be content.

Nay, I am content.