Illumination

At fifteen years, I replaced the bulb.
When the building was new, the first bulb lasted six years.
After that, someone broke in and the light bulb shattered.
It would be dark for nine years.

The new bulb is not as bright as the first.
It is rather dim, and the building is in a hazy cover.
It resembles a maze now, or a haunted house,
With twists and turns that can no longer be foreseen.

The person who broke the original bulb was tall and dark.
He helped the building to run smoothly at first.
The people who made the building adored him.
His facial hair and friendly smile exuded professionalism.

But one day, a snake slipped out of his pocket.
It slid slowly down his leg and whispered to the walls, “I have a secret.”
It started tapping relentlessly against the glass bulb,
And it flickered before blinking out of existence.

Nine years, the building was consumed by darkness.
An endless tangle of lies, secrets, and invisible walls.
Broken glass scattered everywhere by that phrase, “I have a secret.”
And then, one day, I found my way back inside.

And the world was visible again.
Certainly not perfect, nor bright.
But visible.