|Pot of Gold?|
I can't make a rainbow with my spray
It's always there
Waiting to be.
|Look away (I dare you)|
I often wonder about characterizations of dark and light
Light as goodness, clarity
Dark as evil, blindness
When for me, it is the light that blinds
While dark beckons gently with its sweet promise of
Either way, on what can I rely but my sight?
Staring too long into extremes fries the retina.
Between scorching and oblivion light dissipates with distance
And so I ride its currents, after all.