I'm not baking sunshine.
Still dwelling in cellar, where you found me.
I'm not sitting in the easy chair,
I'm not white-washing all the walls.
I breathe shadow, in and out.
Watch for my footprints, soot and ash.
I can glow both bright and dim,
but I'm still in the cellar you found me in.
Not for the faint of heart,
these dreams that keep me tossing
and the quiets that I keep.
While I slip into sweetness,
my bitter thorn I hold sharp,
clutching it tightly.
I am not so faint of heart.

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