The Thought Of Life by J William Meek

I can’t see hope on the other end.

All I see is the blinding light of darkness that never bends,

only straight on its pathway down to death,

so my only path is deeper down the cave of rest.

My emotions are strained taut against the cave’s walls.

Devotion’s stained lungs rot with a history of late falls.

Never returned,

never let us learn.

So what’s the point if there isn’t light when you close your eyes?

If there isn’t anything but demise?

It’s light.

It’s there at the end of your life.

They say you see it late, hear it earlier than preference.

I can’t describe the cave, it’s near its curling point of reference.

But I can describe the light that will sooner or later appear.

I can describe it, just wait for it to come near.

There it is!

There’s the star of my show!

There’s the light that blinds so many yet is never shown!

But then it all ends.

My sight fades to black.

My heart stops,

and I fall onto my back.

I can’t see hope again.

I can’t see its bitter end.

How hopeful I am

to see life 

once more

as only a close friend.