Time,
beautiful time,
the
self professed tester
of
human adaptability
swings
me every day
between
success and failure
and
sleep brings no release
for
I bear the weight of dreams
until
the awakening
of
enlightenment
I’m
here in the everyday
cut
and chip of soul
from
static pose to flying mode
uncertain
where I’ll fall
but
fine filigrees of hope
crossing
over in the dark
a
safety net and soft landing
for
the fallen and bereft.
Like
a homemade mish-mash stew
I’m
dished up from old to new
and if
my heart should drop,
it
lands uninjured and intact
into
the lap of hope.
Hope’s
a very splendid thing,
it
dies and comes alive;
have
you ever wondered why?
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