For no reason, the darkness lifts. What reason could there be? The mind’s lights turn on and turn off.
His tormentor decides when his victim has had enough. But enough of what? Enough for what? When the light returns, as it always returns, The dark is soon forgotten. The pain is too much to recall. And only pain can capture pain. All else is vain recollection, born of the itch of guilt, And his thanks for the better days. And all along the world outside Kept its elliptical orbit around his dark head. Though now he sees its darker spots From his new position of light.