Darkness slithers deep
Inside cold, dark caverns;
But inside a light burns,
Piercing drifting sleep.

It flickers hot, burning bright
Inside a lamp, what a sight—
Not hiding in the night,
Nor letting coldness bite.

It shines upon a weary soul,
Illuminating pages
Not being closed like cages,
Though the light is taking its toll.

The eyelids droop
And the back stoops,
And all the pages like a troop
Fall back into their spiny loop.

-Anne B. Caitlin