The light is always blinding
When we see it, from the dark
Like the sun, shining around us
Giving, what appears to be life.
In that secret space between
The darkest seas; glistening concrete
Smiles back at us, merely a
Mirrored dream, of happiness.
But really what is joy?
The burning martyr cannot
Be happiness, not how we wish
To know pleasure, to know bliss.
The tears of Ouranos fly
From the heavens, to the earth
And quench us, soothing our
Searing wounds; the costs of a joy
Which we could never have known
Save for such pain; all for this rain.