Saturday, January 11, 2014

the balm of the march of january

sometimes the cold is within
the fold
of the innermost corner of belief. 
a word filled with bright hope, but in
these days
the meaning holds more of a 
dark secret. 
matter of time, until everyone else believes this secret with me; alone. 

sometimes the warmth comes from a friend. 
kind words reminding you the gold can be held at all times, and isn't just for dress up. 

sometimes the word comes from 
yourself, before. 
when you didn't know this, but did know where you had been already. and that path was
rutted with 
from lack of exposure
and now you have the other kind
rutted with 
to show you a different empty. 

but those molds needent cling to the present
the gift that you are to yourself. those ruts can be left behind
as a part of the road
continuous, dear heart. keep hope. keep love. keep eyes to the sky and ear to the birds for their songs 
call to the corner of your lips without fail.
learning: the practice of life
the war wages on.

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