Splotches of Sun
So, one day, maybe a decade ago,
I looked up and saw my life as it was,
splotches of color, walled in by massive,
ancient, grey stones.
Sunlight on the other side.
A cold shadow where you stood.
A few spectators, tourists,
most of whom did not see me,
but the edifice around me.
And so, standing in the center of the Coliseum, so
you were startled at how truth shows itself
in stone and light and moments,
where monuments are also prisons
and one has to have the courage to walk away,
walk through, beyond the walls built by
you and a generation before you, walk up,
walk out and make those splotches of sun
your whole world.
And so now, mostly in the mornings,
when life is darkest, I do just that.
over and over again. Repeating history.
Creating the new. I walk. Just walk
towards the splotches of sun.
No matter how small.
They are always there.
About this poem
Yeah, the picture is from the Coliseum in Rome.
No, I was not wise enough to see the lesson in the picture a decade ago. But age brings us wisdom. Or so they say.