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.