SeptPoWriMo 27

The echoes fade faster than they used to
hard to believe the light that hits our eyes
has been traveling for so many miles
it has lost all hope of finding a home
perhaps we are not meant to know ourselves
better than anything we might have been
if our skin were an exoskeleton
would that make standing any easier
the days are shorter and the days grow long
leaving the nights lonely for their excess
more space to dream weird unrecollected
unless of course it was always like that
light finds its way in no matter how much
we might like to think or believe it stops