A lamp illuminates a stone’s throw
And at its edge, darkness reigns.
Do I sit at the center
Awash in soft flame
Or venture forth into shadow?
While I wait paralyzed
I hear the approach of one who lives in the darkness
Soft patter footsteps sifting through the night
A hand I see
Grasping at the edge of light.
Its fingers weary and thin
Pull the lamp cord
Rushing darkness in to meet me.
The choice made for me
Yet still I remain upon my chair
Paralyzed not by indecision
But by a new fear of the dark
Or rather a hopeless, desperate craving
For the return of light.
Photo by Dorran on Pexels