Keeper of Light

There’s a lone wooden cabin situated in the middle of a meadow overgrown with weeds.

It’s quiet. Something seems to be missing from here.

With one hand you’re scraping the mud from under your fingernails, with the other you’re shielding yourself from the sun –

if you turn your gaze away one more time, then you’ll be gauging out your own eyes.

Cover the windows. Lock the door. I’ll tell you what I think.

You’ve spent years attempting to change yourself and

you’ve spent years attempting to minimize damage and

perhaps once you used to be something.

But that was a long time ago.

From dawn to dawn and from tomorrow to tomorrow and

from one mirror to another and from now to now (but in the future)

Forget it.

The sun is still shining and you are still completely indifferent to it.

In an alternate universe you would find those weeds more meaningful.

I'm tired of trying to justify myself.

I'm tired of crawling,

blindfolded,

through a tunnel filled with void that’s constantly expanding,

only to be rewarded with nothing.

Care not for the cage of concrete that has entrapped you.

Care not for the pristine reflection in the windshield – it has emptiness behind its eyes.

We have nothing, my love, we have nothing but the filth.

Not even the illusion of a soul.

You will never understand my cruelty.

You will never understand how close I got to a complete disappearance

and how much it cost me to acknowledge it.

You will never know the feeling of reaching out towards godhood

of being so close to almost touch it

only to realize there is not a thing gods themselves could touch.

Dear earth, may sand be swept from under my feet

so that I will never again think of reaching for the sky.

Dear earth, may your violence rip me apart!

I wish for the light to burn, not just flicker.