Light creeps round the edge of the curtains, gentle steel-grey washing newness across this new day.
Pure morning light is a beautiful unsullied
stretching out, unmarked, unhurried
heavy-laden with opportunity
laced with forgiveness.
Today we get to start again
breathe deep and start over
forget that which is behind, and with optimism and anticipation clear as faith, press on again
towards that which we imagine with eager hope but cannot yet see with mortal eyes.
It seems impossible now to remember what it felt like in the dark
hues of black blue
and all it’s bruising heaviness wrapping itself around us like drowning
and we are left gasping for air, clambering for the surface and
dipping under and under and under again
no sense of time in the drowning
no sense of
Is that what it was like? To hope and not know?
To live and learn and love
and to see it gone
and not know whether it will return? whether it was all that it was meant to be.
Is that what they lived with when he was taken from them?
hung up to die.
To wander in the abyss of the unknown
where time does not fit a frame
Is a particular kind of itching torture
that brings in eager bedfellows:
who revel in their role in tormenting the mind already tormenting itself all well and good enough.
But then it comes again
rising like the morning son and washing us still all over again
that blue-grey steely hope
that never dies.
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