The searing light of morningAsks unwelcome questions,Fragile hopes soon blistered by daylight.
The light needs only our trustAnd, of course, the darknessTo work its eternal alchemy.
Paradise is no whim.It takes time and trust,You see.
The gilded spiralOf longings within.Our very own cathedralThat points persistently to heaven.
I am sad, like the hot dust on the streetsAnd the music of fresh fallen leavesCaught in a sliding summer breeze.
On the canvas of life,Every sweep of the brush matters,Counts for something…
Soothing the exhaustionIn my soul,So I can fall back skyward,Safe in your arms,And survive to dream again.
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