Come to the Light
by Judith Cullen
"Come to the light," they implored.
While I, blackened fog, lurked uncertain,
wrapped in blankets of complacencies,
familiarities, and chilling sufficiency leading
to the same inexorable cycling.
Reaching out from beneath the comforter
hands touch mine, "Come to the light,"
they repeat in chorus, "We miss you, join us."
They cannot pull me bodily from my gloom,
the impulse must be my own.
Ignoring the pain of despondency I strain
rising slowly, creaking, moaning to fall back.
"Come to the light," enticing voices murmur.
Brain aching, soul heavy and heaving
I take one weary step, then another.
Seeking, finding I look about at faces,
evidence of clouding, in degrees, like mine.
Concerted in alliance, a collective shining.
Light was not destination, but confederation.
"Welcome to the light."