It can be too simple
These doubts that grow
Blurring the lines
Of history’s song;
The words of hissing rain
Ask every redbird’s name
To remind us of circles
And life not seen
But felt.
With the dark
The quiet remains
An evening path
Of seeds and leaves;
Promise and protect,
Eyes closed and head back
These memories emerge
Like fossils in sand.
Darkness can deepen,
Enfold the spirit;
A long night spawns
Despair and doubt;
But here the dawn
reveals a crimson sky,
A single note arises;
We face East and,
With quickening hope,
Ascend.
whoisfenton 