Don’t go into the light

I think we have
our motifs on death
at least in one regards:
the light we see
when the end is on us.
Last night
I stared
at the crack of light
that poured through
the door frame
from the hallway
into my room.
I squeezed my eyes shut
and it reappeared
behind my eye-lids
as a black bar:
its perfect echo,
reveled in negative.
Could it be
that those who have come near
to their own demise
are not bringing back
tales of seeing the light
of heaven,
are instead
and weren’t o
heading towards
“The Light”
but were instead
drifting towards
the blackness?
Have we been desiring
the wrong sort
of afterlife?


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