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Belief.
Long is there innocence.
Long it can exist, though there is a tease of light from beneath the door.
Eyes may spy this light, though my mind may not thirst to see
the truth that is leaching to my feet.
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Bearing both pleasure and hurt,
an opening door frees light to touch my ignorance.
It is to reveal light of forms both harsh and gentle,
the fluorescent bulb to the candle.
As my mind attempts acceptance,
I steady my stance to enjoy comfort, accept tears
or abruptly turn as to quickly flee fear.
When, as I turn, the tulip on the sill reacts as darkness leaves,
turning towards all that the brightness brings.
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Naivete, though painless, is not life.
Ignorance is bliss, not reality which may sting, though I turn as does the tulip
knowing life is to soak in the light at my feet,
open the door, bask full-bodied
in its heat.
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There is mettle in courting that which moves the heart.
The light that escaped the opening door,
it soaks in, soothes, yet leaves raw sores.
With honest words, the room, light expands to paint
and ever so skillfully moves fog to grace.
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Mary Jane's Shoes 