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 