A subtle glow illuminates my spirit,
Fueled by the flames of both doubt and belief.
And if I stay quiet, I softly hear it,
Inhaling hardship, exhaling relief.
It measures itself to the spinning globe,
The one that sits loosely upon my shoulders.
It’s filled to the brim from lobe to lobe,
Ever growing fuller as I grow older.
It reels and wobbles with the passing time,
Struggling to stay straight, or at least upright.
As I grapple with reason to maintain rhyme,
So the world and my soul do fight.
Often darkness imposes its demeanor,
Closing my eyes to whatever is, or might be.
It’s not that evil thinks himself keener,
He simply wishes he could see what I see.
And by switching off my sight he hopes,
Or prays, perhaps, that he may.
But although he entangles my mind with ropes,
My spirit will not vision relay.
So as my tunnel is acutely narrowing,
I find no fear here, below.
Instead, I rebuke all that is harrowing,
And abide in my soul’s subtle glow.