I pray for the blinding light

I’m scared for the first time,

In a long time,

That I might pass life by,

As a passerby:

Finding my goodbye,

In the backdrop of a stranger’s story.

 

When I picture my future,

I’m bombarded by hued blurs,

(My cue: “That’s you”)

With painted upon ownership,

Authored by some foreign language,

Promising tomorrow to a hope unknown.

 

Dawn breaks time into

Segmented sensical structures,

Building the border-wall of time,

Expelling the shadowy promise of yet,

To call awake those blinded by the indefinite:

 

 

“The you yet to be,

Stands on the shoulders,

Of the stark beauty,

That is the now.”

 

 

 

 

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