The wind blows sharp;
The night is long,
The night is dark…
She walks alone
Takes tiny steps
Bracing her heart
She prays (in silence)
Lining the path,
Silhouettes galore
Voices of darkness
Rise to the fore
But in her soul
She sings a song
Of the morning to come,
When the night is gone
Walks she on,
The obscure night she defies;
As she walks and waits
For the sun to rise...
posted by soulitary reaper at 8:17 PM
2 Comments:
I had this idea that the world's so full of pain
it must sometimes make a kind of singing.
And that the sequence helps, as much as order helps--
First an ego, and then pain, and then the singing.
- Excerpt from Faint Music by Robert Hass
And happens what
when the morning comes?
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