POEM - The Weight Of Light

We speak of light as weightless, pure,

A thing of beam and fleeting glance,

That paints the world, a swift assurance,

A dancer in the vast expanse.

But stand beneath the noonday glare,

A molten coin pressed on the brow,

Or feel the dusk, a leaden air,

And tell me it is weightless now.

The newborn sun, a furnace bloom,

Heaves itself above the rim,

Not just with colour, banishing gloom,

But with a pressure, fierce and grim.

It pushes down on dew-kissed grass,

Compresses shadows, sharp and lean,

A tangible, immense morass

Of photons in a gold machine.

It warps the air, a shimmering veil,

A burden on the trembling leaf,

A force no fragile thing can fail

To feel, a subtle, sharp relief

From darkness, yes, but bringing strain –

The weight of being wholly seen,

Of every contour, every stain

Revealed beneath the gaze serene.

Consider starlight, cold and old,

That crossed the gulfs of time and space.

Each pinpoint gleam, a story told

In particles that interlace

With void. Though faint, its journey long

Imbues it with a gravity –

A silent, cosmic, patient song

That pulls upon the mind, the sea,

The very fabric of the night.

It bears the mass of distances,

Of dying suns and primal light,

Of infinite consequences.

To catch that gleam within the eye

Is not just sight, but taking on

The freight of epochs sweeping by,

The echo of creation's dawn.

And what of light confined, contained?

The humming bulb within the room

That casts a circle, sharply stained

Upon the floor, dispelling gloom

Yet also pressing on the page,

The chair, the dust motes drifting slow.

It holds the space, a luminous cage,

A focused, concentrated glow

That warms the skin, a subtle touch,

A pressure on the quiet air.

It shapes the shadows, matters much

To how the atmosphere lies there.

The screen’s harsh glare, a liquid weight,

Sinks into retinas, a load

Of pixels, bright and desolate,

A heavy, flickering abode

For thoughts that strain and squint to see,

A burden carried in the stare.

Then there’s the light we cannot see,

The kind that knowledge brings to bear.

The sudden flash of clarity,

Revealing truth beyond compare,

Or stark injustice, cruel and plain.

This light descends with crushing force,

A burden on the heart, the brain,

Diverting life from its old course.

It lands with seismic, silent thud,

Illuminating hidden scars,

The weight of understanding’s flood

Can buckle knees beneath the stars.

It’s not the gentle, warming beam,

But revelation’s brutal pound,

Fulfilling long-denied esteem

Or shattering the solid ground.

The lighthouse beam, a slicing sword,

Carves through the fog and crashing spray.

Its weight is not in sound or word,

But in the lives it keeps at bay.

A focused tonnage, pure and stark,

A warning heaved against the night,

An anchored, immovable spark

That shoulders back oblivion’s might.

Each revolution, slow and grand,

Is measured not in miles, but dread,

The burden held by steady hand

To keep the living from the dead.

And light remembered, soft and low,

The lamp beside a childhood bed,

The sunset on a field of snow,

The words a dying loved one said

Illuminated in the mind.

This light accrues a different mass –

A density of heart, entwined

With moments that forever last.

It sinks into the soul’s deep core,

Not heavy like a stone, but deep,

A luminous, enduring store,

A weight the spirit longs to keep.

It shapes the contours of our years,

A ballast against drifting tides,

A counterweight to latent fears,

Where memory’s gentle light resides.

The dawn will lift, they often say,

Implying lightness, fresh release.

But watch the world at break of day:

The lifting is the weight’s decrease.

The sun’s ascent, a massive heave,

Against the clinging, dark embrace,

A struggle we perceive, believe,

Written on the sky’s vast face.

The light arrives, immense and slow,

Pushing back the heavy shade,

Its victory a measured flow,

A burden beautifully displayed.

So speak no more of weightless grace.

The light that lets the world be known

Exerts its pressure, sets its pace,

On flesh and spirit, wood and stone.

From stellar furnace, fierce and grand,

To candle’s intimate, small fight,

To truth that reshapes shifting sand,

It bears a substance, dark and bright.

It sculpts the shadows, bends the air,

Impacts the eye, the heart, the bone.

The weight of light is everywhere,

The heaviest thing we’ve ever known.

Short Summary:

This poem explores the paradoxical concept of light possessing weight. It moves beyond the physical (the pressure of sunlight, the mass implied by starlight's journey) to encompass the metaphorical burdens light carries: the weight of revelation and harsh truths, the responsibility of guidance (like a lighthouse beam), and the profound emotional mass of cherished memories illuminated by light. Ultimately, it argues that light, whether physical, intellectual, or emotional, is not ephemeral but exerts a tangible and significant force upon the world and our perception of it.