I am blinded by the light;
yet it is dark, and cold, and damp,
inside this cramped and dusky space.
I am alone with my thoughts,
alone with all of my memories.
This light is blinding me. I cannot
see a thing. I am afraid, isolated, alone,
and I wonder how I came to be in
such a dark place. The light flickers across
my furrowed brow, filters through my soul.
The light is strange and eerie;
yet I want to rise to meet its dance.
I am here, but I feel lost and confused.
I remember a loud boom, feeling adrift
as each moment of my life swept past.
But I feel warmed by this light, too.
Shadowy silhouettes are not unfamiliar,
ghostly specters or demons of the dark.
I recognize family members who look younger
and much happier than I have seen them before.
I am beckoned by the light. I feel like
I am drifting away from my earthly home.
My mother is calling to me. My sister cries
wiping tears from her cheeks, from her eyes.
She holds a folded flag in her hands.
I am rising toward the light.
I feel no sorrow at leaving this place.
I have fallen in a strange and foreign land;
yet I am sure of my final destination
as I ascend out of this cold metal box.
I am rising. Rising past my childhood days.
Rising higher toward a new horizon,
toward the light where war has ceased, and pain
has been released. I have fought the good fight
and never turned away from any battle.
I am going to my real home, at last.
To my Father's embrace, to a Son's welcoming smile
where I feel weightless and completely serene,
where the blinding light no longer blinds me at all.
