Above the ruins of the past, we
build a monument of all we've learned. Buried beneath
we've left decaying days.
that slab gravel hope, our
but point. We part the
sky in declaration and clouds pardon our insistence-clearing in absolvance.
Strong to weather, unmoved by either
rain or rub. Fragments of
formed the irrefrangible and the new has only risen from prior pain. That which we,
ourselves, are made of. The flooding gut of springtime
painted grey our walls but not for
loveliness. The mind's eye still
sees within, the
reeds, the palm grass prisms growing, waving on.
fossilized, we've split where weak
scarred now with scales for strength, so
the future palpitates.
Carry on Tuesday