Cycle (Poetry)

I sprung up

A new shell

A brave receptacle for desire and sense

A slate fresh.

The morning,

Life’s dawn

Crashed about me,

And I knew,

Hope was a flower

Untouched

Amidst devastation.

If we were only to pluck it

With our frail hands

Bring it close, to our sad hearts,

It would paint the day

With colors translucent

Draining its life into our fingers,

Into our very being.

For as I reentered the cycle,

Into a life coming, to be gone, never retrievable,

All the darkness fell from my spirit,

And I saw with the eyes of the uninitated