Pray let me dwell in the colorful bliss of blindness
And overlook the lies that time has painted on my wall.
I close my eyes, invoke sleep’s absentmindedness
But for the sake of honesty, some things I can’t ignore.
I therefore gingerly, hesitatingly, force my eyes open
And walk into the lion’s lair, with nothing but my pen
It’s not a wand I’m holding, of this I am aware
And I am no magician, but I have a story to share.
It won’t make clocks run backwards; it’s not a secret cure
It’s just the knowledge that we’re not only cold skin, but fire
That nourishes your body even when the soul is starving,
And makes a soldier fight even if wounded, or while dying.
Some people call it ingenuity, others foolish stubbornness
The cynics call it love, and atheists like to call it faith.
But my light can’t be named, it can only be seen
It’s both in my eyes and yours,
Can you see it?
First Published in Remus Literary Journal, Volume II