The light of Dawn (combustion)

The light of dawn Shines brightly and early, Burning and streaking, Combusting the tension. Burning into my steps As I walk along this path— But I'm smoking the gallows. I'm carrying this flame. Not your light— 'Cause I just can't feel it. So I hold up this torch, Just to see clearly. This awareness, I'll suffer— Struggling, bending. And the golden symmetry Writes out its poems, With no meter or rhyme— Simply flowing, Like raindrops at nighttime, Like warm arms in the morning— Bleeding and growing. Isn't it just a little more special, Knowing this was all by chance, And not a cosmic design? More tragic— In the act of defining, Collapsing with measurement. Just let it be. Ride in the wave— On the edge of recursion. And in the end, Will you stay? To see just how far This darkness goes?