ACCLIMATION

If you stay awake long after the others have gone to bed,
they will look at you strangely.
They will wonder what you read and write.

If you wait until midnight to walk the hills,
they will talk about you in your absence.
They will wonder whom you meet by moonlight.

But here is a strange thing about vision:
your eyes grow accustomed to that to which they're exosed.

Later, in the land after death,
those who have always walked in light and love will be lost.
"I cannot see!" they will cry, stumbling blindly.

You will already know your way in the great darkness.
You will pick your path by familiar landmarks.

—Scott H. Urban

Find out more about
Scott H. Urban's writings at
The Locus Database

All rights to this poem belong to its author.

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