by Ian Tang

When you leave your cave,

The light will be softer than when you entered,

The bats that dart from wall to ceiling

will have found a place to rest,

The cacophony will individualize and recede.

Over time,

The upward sloping path to the mouth of the cave will level

as grains of sand do in a child’s castle,

It begins with clumps of wet earth,

Enforced by well-meaning sources,

Followed by foraged bits; 

tossed rocks, otherworldly seaweeds, and the occasional broken bottle,

The unlikely ingredients build a barrier to block out the infinite ocean,

and at first, seem so strong,

But persistence is the power of the waves,

The preconceived tower will fall gently

as water seeps in,

Loosening the microscopic tensions,

And the coast will be all the more comforting

to a bare foot.

When you emerge from your cave,

You will carry the light that the castle once withheld 

to the frustrated places,

The solitude that is demanded 

will become a gift,

You will have a level ground,

 more secure than any tower built out of fear

that someone may see it.