He vies for some unnecessary sense
of recognition, of temporal attainment
before it is too late,
striving against need, thriving in light
that begets pain as pride gains prominence
over what remains of his injured soul.
In confusion he wails, zealously
rails against unready answers
and unacceptable truths.
How could the light deceive him
so completely, when meekly he mews
please please please,
I have learned all of your lessons,
I live in blessed acceptance of your light.
Why do I still not understand?
Why am I still so alone?
But how could he know—
having followed only the sun,
having held up light to the precious path
unto its finest illumination—
how could he possibly ken
that darkness only carves the light.
George Ellington 
Light and dark! Love it.
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Cheers, Mouse.
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Most welcome.
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Wonderful ending
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Cheers, Choices. Thank you for that.
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Such profound words… I can feel the longing in this one.
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Thank you, Michelle. I’m glad that comes through so well.
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❤️
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Beautiful, with a thoughtful conclusion.
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Thank you much, Ingrid.
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What is so moving, and striking, to me about your beautiful works is that you command such authority over your subject even when your subject is terrible pain, honest pleading before invisible forces. I am so taken by this, as though you have waded into the heavy river of vulnerability and run your strong hands through it just the same, to show it, to proclaim that you are still here. Something so profound in this part of you, this teacher so willing to be taught. Also, dear George, it is so heartening for me to see how you handle and expand upon my words, and fascinating, always and ever fascinating. Thank you.
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My dear Allison, I consider myself to be so very fortunate to have found a source of such astonishing inspiration. Yours is indeed the heart and soul of a poet. Thank you for sharing your writing–yourself–with all of us.
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