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View To The West

I know the light will come; it always does. There never was a night that didn't end.

I sit before my window and defend

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My faith in light from all the dark that was

So solid through the heavy, blackened hours:

The nothingness, the absence of the real

The looming lack of somethingness, the steal

Of joy and hope by night's reputed powers.

My view is to the west. I can't discern

The first appearing of that fiery sphere.

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I wait to see its echo over here

To watch the river brighten and then burn.

I know the light will come. I do not fear

The world's forgetting that it still must turn.

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