Such light flooded beauty    Such broad frigid darkness    But if at the threshold, can't we find a bland calm?    and such small humble quiet    such splendorous crescendoes    But if at the threshold, don’t we leak half-spoken psalms?    Or will the world always beckon from on defined side    and must I always lie in the darkness to wait for the light?    The light of day or of glad heart and mind or just any kind, merciful beacon    like waking from time passed so easily by sleeping       But this wakeful mind can project its own beam    It's a sorry spotlight on the ticking time stream    Wrists and walls full of clocks always reminding me to count moments and deeds like a coin currency    And I'm so broke, so spent, yet wakeful    Embarrassed to be bored    Why can't somersault I inward towards those pastures of gold?       I thought we had just two earth's for irises, and a conscious light that shines through projecting this world onto nothingness...    they said, "retreat from the dark world, into that light. Such a vast, such a patiently obvious timelessness!"       But my eyes are aging with each menacing tick    and more so without sleep, these bloodshot webs are woven so thick    And this world is dying, and for it I'm lovesick    Bu then I must have dozed off    Because I woke to write this.