What if I return to that dark place?
What if I hide from the light?
What will become of me?
I have aged not entirely well.
My thoughts often darkened by the world.
My body bent and slowed by the weight of what I know.
Most flowers crave the light and warmth of the sun.
But a few only open to the night.
The cold and dark of it all.
It does not seem fair to live in the light.
Competitions among the many for the brightest stand.
Top and center the kings and queens of the hill.
Eat and consume the light, each other.
Trampled in rage-filled dance to reach for what?
A notch, a place, a station in the queue.
The waste and refuse compost with the many fallen.
Ambient shards of well used photons paint the shadows.
And the crumpled remains of seekers pushed aside.
No. I do not want this.
It is not the light I race to find favor in.
But the dark where few blossom and thrive.
I open broken in the shadows.
Growing in my darkness.
Solitary nondecript emergence in the night.