Searching for a forlorn beam of light
you reach out in the darkness,
but only see, stretching ahead, a funeral city
enshrouded by bleak, swirling grey mists
that fill your heart with the chill of foreboding.
You carry your burdened heart, trapped inside,
a place from which there is no escape,
looking for elusive answers.
What is there now that mitigates
the desolation in your eyes?
The world is leached of color,
all you see is obsidian.
Anguished spirit, sinking deeper in despair,
hanging by a tenuous thread,
helpless, waiting for the blade to fall.
Your mind slowly drains of tortured time.
Ripples dancing on the darkening waves,
consumed by pain and indecision.
Others cannot bring you back to life.
On your own, you must return,
even though the journey be long,
trudge on, one step at a time and know
you will get there, not easily, not without fear,
but in some strange redemption.
Unconsoled, your spirit lies vanquished;
too tired to pick it up,
you let it remain.
Then,
as you almost
give up -
Just a tiny chink of light
forces its way through
the crack you thought insignificant.
It wanders in hesitantly, a tendril of light,
weak and inchoate, fearing to disturb.
It grows and feeds upon itself,
picks up the invisible skeins
of silken thoughts,
and weaves them into an intricate tapestry
that defies darkness.
Strong enough to lift you from the bog,
even with your heavy heart,
to hold on for dear life, that
which, above all, is precious.
That lucent taper,
called hope.
you reach out in the darkness,
but only see, stretching ahead, a funeral city
enshrouded by bleak, swirling grey mists
that fill your heart with the chill of foreboding.
You carry your burdened heart, trapped inside,
a place from which there is no escape,
looking for elusive answers.
What is there now that mitigates
the desolation in your eyes?
The world is leached of color,
all you see is obsidian.
Anguished spirit, sinking deeper in despair,
hanging by a tenuous thread,
helpless, waiting for the blade to fall.
Your mind slowly drains of tortured time.
Ripples dancing on the darkening waves,
consumed by pain and indecision.
Others cannot bring you back to life.
On your own, you must return,
even though the journey be long,
trudge on, one step at a time and know
you will get there, not easily, not without fear,
but in some strange redemption.
Unconsoled, your spirit lies vanquished;
too tired to pick it up,
you let it remain.
Then,
as you almost
give up -
Just a tiny chink of light
forces its way through
the crack you thought insignificant.
It wanders in hesitantly, a tendril of light,
weak and inchoate, fearing to disturb.
It grows and feeds upon itself,
picks up the invisible skeins
of silken thoughts,
and weaves them into an intricate tapestry
that defies darkness.
Strong enough to lift you from the bog,
even with your heavy heart,
to hold on for dear life, that
which, above all, is precious.
That lucent taper,
called hope.