I am so often deluged
By the trepidation of a contiguous life
Washed beneath the surface of a turbulent sea
Still perceptible, the faintest light shines through
Within my grasp, yet the source a million miles away
To what rationale does this light persist?
Derelict remainders, we meander along
Now provoked by a disposition so innate
By instinct, I reach towards the light
By credulity, the light reaches towards me
I emerge once more without resolution
No greater understanding of why this must be
Back on solid footing, I peer at the source,
Unsure to what extent a role it had played
It peers back at me, revealing no secret
Interminable, the only constant I've ever known
I feel it's necessity, the most dense of illusions
The goal is forever in sight
In the depths of despair, it's signature glow,
Sending my aspirations to saunter free
My only doubt as darkness sets again,
Was I born of the light, or the light born of me?
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