Light • Haley Stevens

Born in a field of darkness,

she drifts in and out of sleep,

in a meadow made of Light

for that was her name.

 

She hides deep underground in a cave made from

white diamond,

from strangers wielding spears at the wavelengths,

making up her glowing skin

and long flowing hair that

are white in the eyes of those unknowing.

And when she’s bored, she lifts her right hand

and frees those wavelengths from her fingertips,

 

watching them

spread across the field of darkness

like ripples in a shallow pond,

bringing color to things left

unnoticed.

 

She makes them sparkle.

She gives them life.

 

But when she does,

the strangers come closer,

so she tears her colors away,

wrapping her arms around herself to keep them from

scattering
at the loud thumps of footprints

striving to find her.

 

Hiding

deep underground as day turns to night,

the footfalls of strangers pass her overhead in the darkness,

unaware they were ever in the presence of

the woman named Light.

 

And the cycle continues for time everlasting.

 

 

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