Your shine hides from your own view,
Storm clouds behind those pale eyes.
Yet you rise, silver skies above each day.
How you miss it is missing to me,
Mystery shadows through your window sill
To lay on the floor dust of your soul.
Smiling at the vision, I shake my head, turning away.
I've answered this riddle for myself,
And know what to burn to light my own path.
The question itself is the darkness.
This poem is dedicated to the girl with the invisible light:
Someday you'll blind yourself, and know I was right.
I regret that it's not today.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Your shine hides from your own view,
Storm clouds behind those pale eyes.
Yet you rise, silver skies above each day.
How you miss it is missing to me,
Mystery shadows through your window sill
To lay on the floor dust of your soul.
Smiling at the vision, I shake my head, turning away.
I've answered this riddle for myself,
And know what to burn to light my own path.
The question itself is the darkness.
This poem is dedicated to the girl with the invisible light:
Someday you'll blind yourself, and know I was right.
I regret that it's not today.
