Writing Light

When first I wrote, my colour was white

The world was an endless sky, and I had found flight

Enraptured by the mystery and magic of sight

I put pen to paper, and tried to write light

It was a feeble attempt, light is too sublime

To be trapped in words, to be captured in a line

———

So light eludes me and dances away

And withdraws unconfined on the tails of the day

Too big for my words.. beyond what I know how to say

Perhaps it was then that my white turned to grey

———

But still I must hope , and what is hope but the soul’s plea

For things not as they are, but as we wish them to be

So I tried to seal hope in black ink on white

I fared no better.. hope was like light

I hoped to write hope, but alas

Light and hope pass through me ..I am the colour of glass

———

Perhaps after all I am not meant to fly

Perhaps I should stop and lay down and..die

I see it now in black ink on white

The silent seduction of an endless night

Yet here of all places there is meaning to light

I will not give in, I am contrite

———

So I trap my todays in my paper cage

I turn my tomorrows to precious words on a page

Much though I have I want what I lack

I thirst always for more .. My colour is black

Forever I yearn for all that is bright

But dark is my refuge, I am at home in the night

Black is after all the only canvass for white

And but for dark.. no need to write light