Enlightenment

Wandering in the sorrow, of the dark night, what I see is, a stretch of gray ripples.

Sighing in the treetops, of the early morning, what I gaze upon is, the first glimpse of sunlight.

Melancholy in the youth, of high noon, pondering, that life perhaps holds more than one path.

Youth, is not a baptism of time.

Hesitation, is not a criticism of one's years.

Tenderness, is not merely words on a page.

It is simply the hope, that time flows like a song, that youth holds no regrets, that one does not fail their prime, nothing more.

Life, why care for the strange gazes of others?

Living, is only meant for one's own eyes.

Perhaps today's loss, is merely accumulating, tomorrow's recovery.

I only hope, that the future remains as it was, that the bright moon shines like light, still there, on the road ahead, following like a shadow.

Author's Note