Where Light Took Anchor

I have always felt something when walking ancient myths—not as stories, but as places.

This poem came that way.

It began with reverence. With Delos. With Leto wandering. With a fragile birth that fixed light to earth.

But it became something else.

It became a meditation on what light is meant to be.

Not conquest.

Not spectacle.

Not endless burning.

But measure. Discipline. Self-mastery.

When I reached the final line, I did not feel anger. I felt clarity.

If we forget what light is meant to be—if we turn brilliance into domination—then perhaps it is better that daylight be withdrawn.

Myth is not escape.

It is memory.

© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite