are there limits to
where the light can reach?
strokes of light,
feathery to the touch,
endearing to the eyes;
beams of light
nurturing even the strangest of places,
caressing even,
the roughest of edges.
visiting even,
the remotest of souls.
even if not directly,
but by proximity.
light touches something,
and everything around the touched,
knows.
so they are too,
touched by light, even if not,
directly.
light asks:
I might come around,
am I welcomed? should I leave?
a darkened corner might,
cry out in joy, or darken itself,
even more, as if to avoid,
such a welcomed, unwelcomed stranger.
for to be touched by light,
feels like both a blessing and a curse,
they say.
for to be touched by light,
means to be touched by love,
and to be touched by love,
means to expand.
to expand, means ones surface will
crack,
in all the right places.
darkness pours out,
like a wound that bleeds;
lightness pours in,
like a fire that purifies,
but burns the old to make
space for the new.
for some darkened edges,
hidden away from light,
featheriness feels heavy.
dappled light stains, paints, carves.
and even though,
time and time, these darkened edges,
turn their faces away,
dappled light returns,
again and again.
for to be light, is to be hope.
for to be warmth, is to
be lasting.
for to be close,
is to touch something.