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Poet’s Pad: The Dying Light

Brandon Hurlbert shares his poem, “The Dying Light.”
Emily Arnold/THE CHIMES
Emily Arnold/THE CHIMES


Photo Illustration of sophomore Brandon Hurlbert | Emily Arnold/THE CHIMES

There is a certain shade of light
That turns brown into gold.
O! What we would give to have it
All the worlds I would have sold.

That selfish thing, what I could do with it,
What could I do but hold.
I would mold it into a pair of glasses,
Watching the past, seeing it unfold.

I would cry and weep all over again,
For I know I must let go and get getting old.
And old I grew and my eyes were opened
To that same light, repeating; of this I was never told.

It shines forth incandescently,
Blinding me with truth; stating it so bold:


 

When I am laid down,
I hope to finally know:
What tragic bliss comes from light;
What constancy comes from cold.

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