Monday, September 1, 2014

The first attempt at poetry:

Triumph

It's a difficult marriage, between tragedy and fate
and Hope is conceived in a womb of despair
She grows secretly, cloaked in smothering darkness

until the light begins to beat
so gentle it might be mistaken for a simple shift in the water's weight
and her soul becomes mercy

so the stars adopt her

and whisper the wisdom of the ancient
and the love of the bosom who never held her.

The angels watch her grow, careful to balance sage against the coarse edges,
keeping her just ragged enough to deny power any chord in her harmony

and even Time himself awaits his turn to touch her face and bows tenderly to her grace

and, thus, her pull is matched only by the moon and its waves.


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