Tristan Robert Lange

Final Retreat

I’ve stepped out into the light;

I’ve been told that

It is what’s necessary.

Necessary.

Perhaps. Not necessarily.

It scorches my eyes,

A blue iris surprise

That should not be

Surprising.

Exposed.

The vulnerability

Veritably on display.

There is no

Other

Way.

Yet, in doing so,

I’ve imposed —

Exposed

The light to

My event

horizon —

Always on the horizon,

Always pulling,

Drawing anything and

Everything good

Into

Nothing-

Ness.

I’ve risked exposure,

I’ve risked my

Essential substance

To connect

With the

Light.

With. The. Light.

The light

Closed the blinds

On me,

On the essence of

My being.

Not sure why.

Why?

I could cry. O, friend,

I could

Cry.

There is no reason why.

Why is in short

Supply.

It went on a strike,

Left the region,

And slipped

Into a

Coma.

So,

I have

Stepped

Out of the light,

And right back into

Satan’s shadowy sight.

From there, within the pit, I will

Stretch and spread my leathery wings

And, in a frenzied fury, rip downward into flight.

What once offered possibility has become a fright.