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.
The Quill 