White light shine,
Shine down on me.
Guide me to the darkness at the end of the light.
A tunnel through nothing,
Burrowing into the quiet times between.
The times between here and there,
Or when nothing turns into something.
Words are pathetically triumphant in their uselessness,
For one who has nothing to say.
The ears that fall upon deaf words,
Are equally as unspectacular.
Read between the lines,
The script of life that nobody has a copy of,
and everybody contributes to.
Needs a rewrite,
Don't you think?
If you hold your fate in your hands,
Does that mean that you are your own destiny?
Search for that white light,
Hard as you might,
With inner sight,
It will beckon you onward,
Onward to the darkness at the end of the light,
That white light.

© Tom Stanley