i wake and see a stark gray ceiling
and consider my chronic lack of feeling,
stretching cold fingers into the ages
of emptiness and poorly built cages.
i'm just tired, a bird with clipped wings,
of the weight, the blank smiles... of all things.
i thirst for the fire and i long for the light
the omnipresent rumbling of a well-fought fight
of the gloom against the glow, the gray against the flash
of memory, and love, and life's mad dash.
the light always wins
or so i've been told
but if that's true
why am i so cold?
shut my eyes. a million points of the light of day
dance against the darkness like a firefly ballet.
a myriad of sparkling illumination, said to sear your eyes
if you look too long -- but this my song: the warmth will be my prize.
like glacial glow
like fresh white snow
like cassiopeia and leo and the hunter and his bow,
like heady scent and opening flowers
like budding dawn, the luminescent powers
thaw my emotion fatigue
as my eyes open wide,
and my soreness leaves.
icemelt, snowmelt, heavenmelt bright
purify the skies of the hell-bent night
and i feel the blood moving throughout
and i breathe
and let it out.
the rhythm is back
and the coop i've flown
the light at the far end of the tunnel
leads me on
and this my song:
i'm almost home.