Plus est en moi [Een dichter]

They say darkness is the absence of light, but doesn’t light owe 
it’s existence to darkness, after all, are not both of them of equal 
importance to get a sense of difference?
 I am probably more of a reflector, rather than a source of light
 myself, not out of intrinsic inability, although neither a choice
 My light’s surrounded by walls, carefully crafted throughout the 
years by uninvited strangers accompanied by a whole crew of 
builders formerly known as loved ones, alienating
 themselves, brick by brick, impeding the weakening attempts
 of my light to escape their fortress
 Silence, total silence, as well as darkness, complete darkness have 
a thing in common, both are
markers for the absence of their, generally more positively
 regarded antonyms, but there is another common denominator:
 they both terrify me
 I need music because I cannot cope with the meticulous and 
everlasting solo concerto of emptiness for a ticking clock;
 and sleeping feels like surrendering to the unknown,
 the nothing of a hollow darkness
 I am not a real night person, it’s just that surrendering to sleep, 
entering the gaping black, is way easier exhausted then it is at
 reasonable times, with fighting energy left
 Some people shine, others add to the shadows
 In my fortress, at least some bit of - false - comfort can be found.
 I regard the importance of the question whether it’s com-
fort is just a self invented illusion, or an actual reality as bearing
 the same weight as the meaning of the debate whether light
 needs darkness or the contrary,
 precisely: none, whatsoever.