My mind drifts into the perpetual cliche of night-time musings,
But the darkness, which harks back to Plato's cave,
Just stares,
Unmoving,
Relentless,
Staring back I see only a pinprick of light in the distance.
The light casts long shadows that envelop
Me in a blanket of torturous tricks,
And as I begin to question the lights very existence,
Wondering how a light could shine in this night
Of labyrinthe mazes of fools and madmen,
I find myself asking,
As a calm befitting a crystalline river overtakes me,
How can there be great shadows without glorious light?
By Roger Jenkins
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