There is light at the end of the tunnel
and it is light these eyes were made to see.
My self I have imagined, reflected
in countless frames busy with wild designs 
to my left                                            and right,
likeness after likeness for company.
Portrait of the times each step of the way
shadow caught astrals, they reach out, would speak.
How many would change their luckless station-
so many languish long in misery
where only I, at present, may proceed.
These shade hid figures all multipying-
their lessons unfinished; their fading fight;
fasten my eyes more firmly on the light.