Light Spots

Light Spots


Blind courage
Has moved me once more.
Scabbed, yet gently painted,

My toes brush the dirt aside
To check for glass or unknown
Hurts. Others,

Blind in their own nature,
Shatter shards of pain
On the path I follow.

Pilgrims, passing through, will
Look upon me with jealous,
Tired eyes. Beneath my

Brown iris, fervent fear
Streaks through like
Darkened ink stains.

The universe must look
Upon me in pity.
Cast this doubt away.

I do not.
Not yet.
Tightened to my waist,

Is a flimsy measure
To hold me in case this
Path becomes traitorous.

In spite of the valiant effort
From my war-torn toes,
Glass still cuts through.

Thorns still pierce.
The rope

Making breathing
Difficult. Yet, there—

A spot of light,
Splitting the canopy
Of leaves, and landing

On the palm
Of my outstretched hands.
Holy reverence.

A light,
I failed to see
Before my soul’s rupture.

The path is dark, misty
Cold and beautiful. Maybe
At the end I will be showered in sunlight.

Lead me blind courage,
Lift my foot once more.

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