What is morning but the prelude of clouds?
What is noon but the scorching of light?
“But light,” we argue, “is a path towards life.”
But shouldn’t we consider,
Sometimes it burns?
We need only turn to Icarus’s plight
Though, of course, that is only a tale,
A mistake of one who wasn’t bright enough.
Bright…ah yes
That is what we are, right?
Keen as a blade,
Sharp as a knife
Fresh from the blacksmith,
We are given a destiny.
“Take flight,” we tell the bird,
“Shoot for the skies,” we say.
But wait —
How will we fly when trapped in a cage?
And even if we do,
Have you learned nothing from the fall of the sun?
Because while a bird may fly, a fledgling only falls.
But no matter.
We are never shown the cliffs anyway;
We are only pushed,
Encouraged to master our forms of light.
“My goodness, aren’t they bright!”
“I just know they’ll do great things.”
So we take heed,
we follow,
we listen,
Turn a blind eye to the brittle structure it is built upon.
We walk the road without seeing the map,
Shuffling, single file, into a trap.
“But no, if you learn the steps, you can avoid it!”
So then, where is the guidebook?
“Learn as you grow,”
Assimilate and follow.
We integrate to avoid the island of isolate
Such a fickle road, one not even paved,
Yet we choose them anyway.
For it is us who are blighted with brightness,
So we listen;
We obey.
After all, would you choose to brave the sun?
Or hide from the light?
