Light

 

 

Every day, every night, there is darkness

It’s unseen by the human eye, except from the whole heartedness.

It doesn’t lurk in the shadows, not an assassin of the shade

Instead a parasite, feeding from the victim like a depressing raid.

Depression is this disease, this infection that spreads like wildfire

No person is smart enough for this puzzle, only prone to admire.

There is no cure for this virus, and there never will be

But perhaps food will help, and maybe some ice cream.

Many don’t understand the cause of this outbreak

He left me! She left me! Talk to me for god’s sake!

But in this darkness, there seems to be an answer to these cries

A beam, a glimmer, to help by their surprise.

Now this source, this shine, is not what you expect

Not a lamp, not the Sun, but rather something many would object.

A person is this shimmer, this torch in the cave

As our savior they are; one that is brave.

But there are only few like them, so be very grateful

Because in the end, you will ever be so thankful.

Many think this is from the sun, from utilities that emit bright

But I just turn to her, and say, “thank you for being my light.” 

 

                                                                                                                                   

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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