The light drifts gently through the pane,

Settling down, then out again

To touch some other soul abroad

Or perhaps return to God.

Neither you nor I can tell

From where it came or where it fell,

Yet for certain can be known,

That light has never been alone.

Traveling with it near and far

From Roman roads and distant stars

To city streets and jungles dense, 

Light has always spirited

The shadow and her softened tread

Has long evoked a whispered sense

Of closeness with another world

Where Charon ferries sleeping hordes

Across the Styx and on to rest

For many a weak and weary breast.

Just as light reminds of death, 

So it shows in every breath,

Illuminating signs of life

And freedom in the rite of strife

Of soldiers glistening in the field

Or off the weapons that they wield. 

The gleam of light can still be seen

On faces of the young and lean

And in the eyes of those who've toiled,

Those shoving off this mortal coil

Can still be seen a twinkling beam

Of light and its vivacity. 

Travis Shillington

17 December 2008