Overworked Lightworker
Is this the world that deserves our softest light?
Is this how we get on with a little fight?
We know we’re not in control
We pull through whatever may arise or fall
But despite convalescing from an affliction
Banefully, we seem diagnosed with manipulation
Either you’re blind or refusing to see
Escaping the decaying reality
Countering every dire theory—
Consciously—with a dreamy philosophy
Not for the sake of sweet innocence
Nor for ignorance’s safe pretense
But for seizing the right to live
Because we ought to find grace in what we receive
To drink from the sacred cup of existence—
To taste salvation without a tang of grievance
So I keep asking with a tainted insight…
Is this really the world I once believed to have a hidden light?
—Nicola An
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