The Light

Two and sixty days ago — Two months, or so I'm told — I wandered, wistful, without cause, Through a memory of old. A hall of walls I wandered, tall, As tall as tales I could weave, But none as tall as this regale, A story that you won't believe. I walked near endless hours, My only friends the cobblestones, Ringing in my steps the sin That only time atones, When upon that pallid plaster I did spy a shocking sight: Upon that place's rocky face, The wall had turned to light. "Curious," I cooed and questioned, Calm as I could never be, "Perhaps it might be that this light Is rightly mine, I see?" And as I pondered that hall I wandered, A chilling change I never chose arose: That light so rife with delight and fright Began to open, and I froze, For that particular portcullis I pondered Put me in a vice. I nary noticed that walls in focus Had changed into a hall of lights. Transfixed, the light engulfed me so, As slow as my bewildered head Could comprehend the candid land I planned my final stand in dead. I whizzed through spaces, unknown places, In stasis from the faceless force When finally I fell, the frenzied light Still tight from an unseemly source. All at once, those two months Became a fraction of a wink; The frost was lost as I was tossed Among the lights of what I think. And where else would I find myself But in this courtyard we call love? My journey never left my head, Nor bed's unconscious dreamland hub. Two and sixty days ago, I heard these words so true, And in the dark they were my light: You told me "I love you."