I stare at that light,
that light at the end of the tunnel,
and I wonder,
“Why are there no colors?”
Briefly.
Then I devour the light.
I watch it twist and dance –
it is not only at the end of the tunnel,
but it runs along the sides,
liquid diamonds.
I long to drink it.
.
Then,
I spit.
The uselessness of these words!
ow many times
do I say the exact thing,
over
and over?
Every time these same,
comfortless words.
What are they?
An expression of my desire?
I write them,
think them to the light,
hoping it will hear,
(for written language is nothing
to the light).
I beg again for that light,
and I touch it with my finger,
snapping the dream.
I fall again into the useless reality.
The light will not let me in,
not alone.
But no one else can see it,
and I quake with frustrated rage.
So close,
yet close
is meaningless.
But in that light,
reality and that narrow tunnel between
are less than a dream.
Oh!
There I know myself,
as I melt into my guide
and the light penetrates
my soul,
purging it of shadow,
fusing it to another soul,
equals.
But where is my guide,
and for how long must I search?
I grow weary of games,
of testing through words,
these same words.
No!
Step into the light with me,
hold my hand and we will explore that world.
We can explore the light.
I say ‘we’,
but who is that other?
Where can I find that soul
with courage?
One that wants to taste that light
with me?
Oh,
if only you could see that light
as I do!
If you had put your hand into it
and felt that jolt
of life
that stops the heart.
There I have seen the world melt
as time stood still.
There you can go beyond tasting the world,
drinking her colors.
Oh,
come with me –
it is so much easier than you think.
Let go
and come with me.
I cannot understand your fear,
and I hope that you do not see the light
through my words only,
for they are nothing.
I hope that you have been touched by the light.
But your fear speaks otherwise.
Let me take you to the light.
.
11.25.98