a divine light

Mike Coleman

god isn’t here,
he left years ago
taking all the good and wholesome

light
with him.
but I get the feeling
that it doesn’t matter –
because maybe, I’m used
to it all –

the shadows
and the dim implications of stars.

the foggy nights
the constant footsteps.
the pacing
up and down.

and all of that pacing
and anxiety with no
voice responding from the black,

answering my simmering thoughts –

why wouldn’t
I think
he left?

but it makes
me realize
that I understand a few things now –

I get why the world
whispers poems,
only when the sun
goes down

and why
every breath we take
is another debt
that we all will soon pay

and I get why
dancing is so respected but most are
scared to do it.

I understand that I don’t need

his light where I’m going
to end up,

because as long
as I am thinking
and watching
and making sure each breath I take

leaves a mosaic,

a sculpture and

a footprint,

the light seems

to shine

right out of

my eyes.

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