the weight is lifted, the unease remains, this is how life unfolds: always teetering on the brink of euphoric joys and crushing sadness, we must live in the middle - balancing on the knife-edge - not seeing the future, but being prepared for what may come, never leaning too far into joy nor sorrow, we must keep on always, keep on
Future Days
how much darker will the days grow, when might we find the dawn of a new beginning; hope is a gossamer thread and our hands are blunt instruments, clinging in desperation, we beg a sign, for the light we see is a confusion of potentialities, and we hunger for substance - it can't all come from within - something to reward our faith, that better days lie ahead
Cry, The Beloved Country
on a warm day the pleasure of the sun drew my eye from book to sky - blue and endless, it stretched the length of my dreams - in that moment I understood I was small, still I felt full to bursting with the life thumping inside me from the strong emotions built up by the beautiful book in my lap - a small plane cut a puffy gray trail across the blue canvas above, "man built that", I thought, so there must be hope for this world