Something to Orient Ourselves Against
We talk of lights,
And ends of tunnels,
And ask aloud,
If they're there,
"Is there a light at the end of the tunnel?"
Perhaps there are some lights,
Which aren't plugged in near the stairwell -
For an unbelievable length of time, decades, years,
At your Grandma's house,
Classic White, holding out in a hemisphere,
Against floral wallpaper,
Or when you were young-
They were green opaque,
Ninja Turtle shaped,
Lets thank our friends and family,
For the comfort we have received,
But no,
Not all lights,
Are night lights,
Posted 12 inches from the floor,
There to help you, near the obstacles.
We cannot see.
Moving forward, we can't tell where we are,
Like Oedipus, We may suffer our deeds,
More than we act them.
'till the day breaks,
And the room is illuminated and new again,
And you might not be,
In the place you thought you were,
While stumbling with your hands out,
In the darkness,
It seems, something has to separate everyone,
It catches us.
But perhaps there are still some,
Motion sensored,
Which flicker on,
Once you've hit them,
Useful,
By the time you've passed them.
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