I am too much
In the sun,
Void and away
From clouds of isolation yet
Still within chaos, stationed
Within rays of
Comradery, revelry,
Familial salvation.
I am too much
In the sun,
Clouds, yes, still upon me.
Haunted, yes, ghosts of regret
All foreseeing unsure storms up ahead,
But still more comfortable in the
Occasional shadow.
Could this life
Be too good to be mine?
Or has it always been,
I too blind to see it or perhaps
To permit acceptance?
The later,
Virgil whispers. You arrive
When you need to
And you may depart again.
As the bard wrote,
As I write today,
I am too much in the sun,
Where even still
The sky stays breaking,
Opening wider
Then I could have ever imagined,
So much so that I am blinded,
Thankful for the affliction.
-
III.D.