When does the light come?
To land on this bleached face,
searing
(only skin deep)
the blinding knowledge that surrounds us.
Melting in to every pore,
every space of me
that contains a question,
or a doubt.
Every dark part within,
that continues to try
(pushing outward constantly)
to convince me
that the light is not that bright.
That the darkness is more powerful.
But all the while
I wonder,
when does the light come?
The pit of me calls out for it,
stretches and bends in the hope
that its brilliance,
its deepest of deep truth
will touch me -
if only skin deep.


7/5/07

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