Bright light hovering over my head
Lighting me up, making me its own.
Inseparable, as if I am light itself.
The blinding brightness of my being
Leaves me incapable of finding my way
Through my own thoughts, turned strangers.
In this light, I have nothing to write
Nothing that’s mine.
And I fear these blank pages
Will be a reminder
Of a fruitless day.
The ship sitting at
The edge of my closed window.
It looks out at the wind.
The wind creating
An ever-changing mosaic
Of ruffling leaves.
It looks at the wind that belongs to it,
But never touches its lifeless white sails.
It looks for the ocean
That it was never made for.
My fears were in vain,
I have finally filled this page
With words that are reminder
Of a fruitless life.