Once, I read this story about Satoshi flying in harsh, blinding, light. That's where I got my idea for this. What do you think the "light" is?
Light
At the end of a tunnel, there is always light.
But what kind of light is a whole different matter.
The light might be comforting; the light might be kind.
Or the light might be harsh and shatter your mind.
When I think of the light, I cringe and cry,
Since the light I know is of the latter kind.
I don't wish for the light; it is just THERE.
One touch, I scream, one brush, I burn.
I look outside, at the kids fooling around,
And not one of them seems to be hurt by the light.
I'm the only one who feels it; the only one who sees it,
The only who flinches at the mention of the light.
Why am I so alone in my views?
Why am I the only one who suffers in the light?
Is there no one else who sees as I do?
Is there no one else who cares?
No one cares, except for the light.
It is the light I hate, but the light that stays.
It is always, always there.
Comforting…in an odd way.
At the end of a tunnel, there is always light.
The light burns me, but at least it stays.
I suffer in the light; I fight the light.
But maybe, just maybe…
I like the light.