When our eyes

first open, when

they first meat

reality's scourge, all is

light.

Is a blinding, golden Brilliance,

it's splendor limning

the world. Is a dancing, prism face where

lies can only cling

to Day's tattered hem.

And then we

blink, eyes adjusting to

the staggering glory. The world,

we realize, isn't the faceted

nimbus we once thought it.

It isn't the realm where

light

only allows darkness a short

reign, where all would

eventually mend and

stars forever glow—because really, there

is nothing that will heal. And

the stars…they will all

burn themselves to an end, will

be consumed by the very Brilliance

we once held in awe.

By the

light.

So really, there

is nothing here. Nothing but

ebony forest and gnarled, reaching

branches, their splayed finger

nailing shadows to us

all. Blocking out the

light,

too, but just barely. The

shadows, after all, need it. Need the

light

to forge their shapes. Need

to feed off it, imbibe

the awful splendor.

When the

light

comes, it will burn, burn

burn through us all. We may stand, faces tilted to

gossamer sky, but it will

bring us low. It drag us, pull

us down to depths we cannot

plumb; it'll force us, goad us to

our knees. Looking up, all

we'll see is

light,

that terrible, alluring face of

Day's breaking.

Of it's shattering

into glass doors.

And yet nothing

with a face can be so

dreadful. At least, nothing

that looks you in the

eye, meet you

head-on, face-to-face. Because…well, isn't

it the shadow's job to

hide, to veil and cloak

and shroud? And the

light—

doesn't it always burn, burn

the blackness through? Doesn't it stream through

the branches, granting shadow-nails

their very life?

It does, we realize. It

does bear with the dark,

lets it linger for a

little while. And that's

just it: the

light

only tolerates the void, allows

it life for only the span of

this world's lifetime before the

firebrands. Before it tosses it to the stars.

And we—all of

us and the

light,

us mortal tents and the

Brilliance—will watch the

old world burn out.