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Bridled

A little boy wakes up, and he grabs his nightlight
"What did you see?" he asks,
Holding the bulb close to his heart.
"Is there life through my eyelids?"
Because the boy can't carve a third eye from his race cars and his model fortresses
He can't consult the angel-headed poets who make the light into a thousand purpled metaphors
He can't make heads or tails of the journals that will tell him it's a phenomenon of particles rather than magic
And in the end, he can't caress the night any more than he can taste the bitterness of sin.

Eventually, the lids bear heavy on the eyes of the boy
And he stops to worry where he used to start to wonder
But the light burns on--
An outlet of power becomes an inlet of illumination
A new boy sees the light, but doesn't ask it what it has seen
Because how can a light be his eyes
When his eyes only work in the light?



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LetsLiveSuddenlyThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 21, 2013 at 10:29 pm:
AHHHHHHHHHHH
 
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