The Lights Went Out
A poem on being a light amid the darkness
“There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful… There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.”
― Sarah J. Maas
The lights went out,
at nearly the same pace as from whence the lights came on,
obscuring any glimmer of hope I once had
of a bright future —
my fighting chance at redemption and even,
happiness.
I can’t see anything but the dying flame I lit amid the darkness
that is enveloping me like a weighted blanket
in which I can’t breathe properly,
suffocated not by its bleak presence
but by its enemy’s absence —
light.
The longer I hold my breath,
awaiting the source of light to gain control
and power over this formidable darkness now encompassing me,
the longer my heart yearns to be free:
it’s as if my heart is a fluttering butterfly
trapped in a cage barred by my ribs, held still and held
hostage.
