I do not envy the Light. 

Were I born to be any one thing, 
Were I destined to grow according to pattern, 
Were I programmed as though a mere seed, 
I would doubtless be a wraith of shadow, 
the reflection of an approaching storm, 
harbinger of a broken piece of eternity 
fallen to this earth, and abandoned 
by the shining Celestial hosts. 

And so it is Gray I would be. 
The color of drifting smoke, 
The remnants of dissolving night, 
the hazy memory of faded dreams. 
The color of the cool places between 
where starshine ends and the void begins. 
Iron gray as the tumultous heart 
of a roving stormbank, much like a 
charcoal tear smudge on the dour face of 
Infinity as it fights sadness. 

I am a friend, a source of consolation, 
I am a shield against falseness, 
a refuge against the encroachment 
of all that demands of you to 
pretend that all is right with the world. 
I am Truth and I am a watchful 
and protective Faith for the Weary. 

I am foreverness and I am nothingness. 
Gray I am, and a cold proud source of 
mystery and enigma, sparking 
the resources of dulled intellects 
and bringing them once more to life. 

I am the last days of Autumn 
in the majesty of a human Soul. 

I do not envy the Light. 

I would be its loyal trusted herald, 
Were I born to be any one thing, 
Were I destined to grow according to pattern, 
Were I programmed as though a mere seed...