oh love.
how many times
we have sang these same tunes,
wishing, and wells, and welling up
with wishes that glance
to the world and scream
no.

there is little comfort in praise.
little hope in reality, and
less being in stagnation.
i have willed my limbs
to move countless times; forced
my shell to rot and chaff.
it has been burned down.
it will be regained.

love,
stay close to the spirit's mindbeat.
truth cannot be far from forever's core.
it is still heated in the radiance of the sun;
still comfort in the shadow
of each untimely moon.

there are still hearts and songs and eternity.

i do not promise
it will be smooth,
that the skin of despair
won't be riddled with
holes and sandpaper.

but i promise this:
there will be days where
we shall see the horizon,
pale, and bleak;
opaque, in all its brilliance,
burning from toes to spine.
we will walk through the lands
of the undead and mourn
the loss of the corpses we've laid there.
we will lay there with them, one day,
but for now, tomorrow is enough.

it will always be enough.

12/04/2003

Author's Note: for you, soulsister, and matriarch.

Posted on 12/04/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe