Road

 

I had opened my eyes for the very first time,

to a room darker than any I’ve ever been.

And although I couldn’t see a thing,

my movements were led by bell chimes,

and the pulsing strings of violins.

 

My first breath of air followed a light,

that proved I’ve been seeing all along.

The spans of the light reached four corners,

and remarkable heights.

And the rogue notes that plagued the room,

harmonized together into a song.

 

Whenever I tried, I made out your silhouette.

And as time went by, you materialized.

And you were real,

and you presented me with no debt.

Your birth gave me religion,

in which I am baptized.

 

Because I have no discipline to wait,

I reached out my arms to hold your waist.

And just before I touched my tangible fate,

you began to dispel at an alarming rate.

 

My arms went through you like you were air.

Every step I took forward, you leapt back.

Every movement I made,

made your appearance increasingly fair.

The more transparent you became,

the more I feared the room will return to black.

 

In a moment of desperation, I lept towards you.

I pushed you in all directions like mist.

I stood up and looked around a sky of blue,

and grasses of green, and creatures running swift.

I familiarized myself with a world

my mind could finally drift.

 

Yet, there was no room for celebration

because you were nowhere to be found.

Everywhere in God’s creation,

I searched to see if you were around.

I ignored the happiness surrounding me,

like it was still darkness I could see.

If there is no you,

there is simply no me.

 

Almost suddenly, a licorice road

unfolded in front of me.

And although there has not been

a word from God or a promise from men,

I walk the road and it’s every bend.

I walk the road awaiting you at the end.

 

A fool to wander unaccompanied

into a vast land for a remedy

to fix the loneliness of being born in the dark

with only the bright light justifying

a lonesome embark.

 

Embarking into the unknown

for a love, for a life I can hone,

for myself, for my ego, for my worth.

Hunger was threaded at birth.

 

Being lost is the only art I preserve.

And if I wasn't lost at anytime,

it's when I heard the bell chime

and the words rhyme

before the light went away.

Illuminated by what light meant to say.

 

- END -