Blue sky, white moon, purple hands.
Never has hell looked so pale
Or so cold.

Were I there now, I would
Love the stark beauty of the
Clear winter morning, though
I would wear gloves.

As it was, my youthful eyes
Were focussed on survival,
Though they were frequently
Distracted by a different sort
Of aesthetic appreciation.

Sometimes I fear I have
Regressed to that old, sad state,
Soul tucked safely away where
It cannot be moved, eyes
Down to the path just ahead,
Days endured rather than enjoyed.

But when I carve out some time
To stop, to breathe, to feel,
I remember how to open my
Tired heart, and I find that
The kernel of me that I had
To learn to nurture rather than
Suffocate is still there after all.

12/20/2025

Posted on 07/02/2026
Copyright © 2026 Richard Vince