Translucent stars get cloaked by the glittering elevation,
They douse the yellow burning on boulders that lack sensation.
A tin-plated bowl plays pretend as porcelain cup,
pressured by the maintainance of going up, up and up.

His loneliness came in waves,
every time he visited his brother’s grave.
This is biggest of reason why he took off,
to live across the desert far from the trough.
He pressed down every emotion and kept it pressed against the last, new ones began to take form with secrets of his past.
He had earned a dance with the devil, cursed by his days of revel.
He uncovered a million reasons why he shouldn’t stay,
For reasons he never figured, what was he supposed to do to not run away.

And so he left where silence felt like a familiar existence,
his doorway locked out from world’s insistence.
He lived far away in resistance from the city of daze,
a place where the yellow sunlight gleams, created a haze.
Surrounded by rows of empty parking lots lit by floodlights of reason, through his window he witnessed the metamorphosis of season;
In gardens of sober logic, he lived exotic.

His heavy casing of heart began to soften,
with every passing day he saw often.
He admired her from afar her glow was irresistible,
he drew close to her love like it was inescapable.
All this while he carried his burden with thorns of grief,
his heart had healed when he sighed a relief.
After days months and years, he lifted his hands to the heavens,
and prayed for all his sins that were left unforgiven.
The world spin around again and was not flat,
Look what happens with love like that?

Maybe,
It’s not about finding
The light at the end of the tunnel,
Maybe,
The tunnel doesn’t even
End, and the light isn’t
The warm glow of a
Sun so high above,
But the dim illumination
From a floodlight, dusty,
And draped with cobwebs,
And maybe,
The floodlight isn’t there,
It’s shattered and its pieces
Bury into the skin of your
Bare feet as you step on them,
And continue to trek forward in
Darkness, towards the next light.
Maybe,
That’s a good thing.
You’re in a tunnel after all,
You can’t drown in blackness as
Easily as you can the sea.
Maybe,
The extra darkness
Makes the next floodlight
Brighter, and you’ll
Stop, and bathe in it a
While as your aching lings
Finally rest.
Maybe,
If you’re brave,
You’ll think you can
Live under the light,
Unaware that you’ll
Lose your knowledge
Of the darkness,
And when your light
Finally coughs,
And shudders
And dies,
You’ll get lost in the dark again,
Turned around,
Heading away from the new lights ahead.
Or maybe,
You prefer the shadows,
Carry a bat,
Or a golf club,
Or whatever blunt weapon
Catches your fancy,
And you smash each light
You pass,
Cutting the feet of all those
Behind.

Maybe,
There isn't a light at the end of the tunnel,
Just an endless string of floodlights,
Bright,
Shattered,
And lost.