My Light

My light wakes me.

My light differs from the sunlight.

My light does not raise the plants to full bloom, nor does it evaporate water in the puddles of the world. But my light can outshine the sun. Blistering white. Warming red.

My light can not be turned off. Electrical currents and voltage, watts and fuses are unworthy cages for my light. My light elevates above these things. There it hovers.

The rising sun greets me as each day adjusts in my sight, brushing off the fog of my sleep, collecting my thoughts.

I hear the voice and I feel warm.

Rolling over to the side of the bed puts me at ease and gives me strength for the day standing before me.

I hear my name called.

I see her busying herself for the world.

She holds conversations with the cat as he looks up trying in vain to respond.

I put these things in my pocket and carry them till the moon replaces the sun on the clock. Punching in to take over the celestial duties.
The sun closes its eyes. The moon has coffee. Black as night.

My light is a little girl, and my light is a strong woman.

I tire of the civil war that is fought behind my eyes. It exhausts. It penetrates. It drains.

My light fights for the good guys in these skirmishes.

I employ my light like a mercenary-for-hire to ward off the demons and hell hounds that pursue me.

My light is sharp as blazes.

My light is soft to the touch. Like hanging my name on a cloud.

This town sets backdrops, and it makes scenes. Silver scenes that feel and touch and breathe...they come alive.

I found my light in this town.

The skyline is brighter because my light radiates. Overt and undulating.

I want to stand atop the structures and yell with beautiful resonance that I have this light accompanying me on my journey to wherever it is that I am going.

My light stands like a monolith in the plains and valleys of uncertainty.

I use my light as a directive compass. I point direction towards my light when I'm lost and confused. Finding my way home is walking a beaten path now that I have my light.

When a scared boy calls out to the empty space that surrounds him because he's haunted, the light appears to calm his fears.

My light sends fire to my skin. My senses are acute. When I touch my light, my blood pulses like a churning river of red. My veins open up and my fingers pulse. I feel like a man.

My prayers for light fell on listening ears, because He has illuminated the dark corners and unknown chasms of uncertainty by sending light to the doorstep of my life.

My light is a blessing brought to me that I can't repay.

This is a debt that can never be paid in full.

My life's work, and what is to be added to it, is brighter because of the light at my side.

God waves His hands. God gives and God takes away. My light was right on time.

I would journey through the trenches of Hell, armed with only my two fists if my light was waiting on the other side.

I have foresight. I can foresee how powerful and beautiful light can burn. The colors that surround me beam with more fluidity when reflecting my light. I beam when enveloped in light like a blanket that transcends time and the bindings of mortality. Minutes, and days, and weeks...months and years...they hold no power over me. Moments are the units of measurement that I record my light. Moments that pass, but continue to last.

I stand outside the realms of touch and consciousness and sight.

I stand because you are my light.