The morning sunlight streams through my window bringing a languid warmth to my waking body. It dances over my arms and caresses my back with a profound heat that relieves more than just the stiffness in my muscles. Something stirs deep in my chest, stretching its limbs as I stretch mine, basking in the soothing rays. It draws its life from the brilliant radiance as its fingers shoot out into my flowing veins. The insecurities of my fading youth lie there, part of the beast, but not. They stand a part, a memory, a personality, an integral part of my being that is slowly pushed to a hidden corner where its voice is but a whisper.

Sometimes I gaze into the mirror and I know who I see, but other days I do not recognize the face staring back at me from the recesses of its dark brow. I look at the muscles protruding from my bones and the wrinkles etched into my forehead and cannot reconcile this image with my second-grade photo. It seems a dream, a fairy tale existence. I am the same person, but somehow not. The toothy grin has vanished, replaced by the somber aspect of a man pursuing what life has to offer with determined vigor.

I often think that I know what I want, what I will do; but doubts soon billow forth to cloud my vision of the future, leaving me to wallow in hopeless obscurity. So I trudge forward into the blackness, wishing for the clarity of my childhood and wondering why it must pass before I even thought to appreciate it.

Once I overflowed with a joyful exuberance; lately I fear that the spring has nearly run dry. I am so tired now, but I know that a life burns within me, yearning to cast its rays forth and light my way. To set it free would be to unfold the full glory of my soul, but such is not my power. It comes out occasionally in my song and I feel that I could float away with the clouds, but no one ever hears. Most of the time my song is dead, flatly bleating out the notes, remembering the glimmer of life that once graced the aria but without the knowledge to bring it back.

The sunlight gives me my warmth, but soon I must leave it for I have gleaned what life I can from its rays. The darkness looms before me cold and foreboding. I know not what it offers, that impenetrable gloom. I can only hope that I will find my own light in the shadow. 1