The paths here are many and tend to multiply in the deep and dimness,
unfolding like paper dolls cut from black tissue paper,
and I fight the good fight…
(even if it doesn’t feel very good)
over and over,
a knotted string of days…
too many times,
the reason for the battle forgotten.
I am tired of the dark.
I am tired of being lost.
I am tired of looking like a champion,
and feeling like a broken toy.
And if there was any traveling grace that could hear me,
any spirit with mercy to bestow,
I would beg for a wisp…
A merest curl of light,
a way out,
and a righting of the unbalance that fumbles my steps
and fogs my mind.
A dancing candle flame bright enough to signal me,
to lead me,
a more kindly guide than the bruising dark.
I have always known I would someday
have to make this journey
and I would rather dance than crawl.
But confined in this place,
ripped from the world,
and try to remember the words,
that will call the light,
that will bring a small space,
Just a smudge,
just enough to show a new opening,
a trail more comfortable with itself.
One not shrugging and changing for spite,
not gambling on the fate of a straggling traveler
in a twisted Thimblerig.
Call the light.
with everything I have…
everything but my voice.