Sometimes we wake, words fresh upon our lips and singing like lightning in our minds. Sometimes we are touched with fire.


They say that we begin in darkness
and end in glory but we
lose the way sometimes and we bend
like sunlight does, to the tides.

And yet despite
the newness and the nearness
we (not knowing better)
we fight and we fall and hope is only hope for
what

must lie behind
those hidden paths in bisected air,
slashed pale as fracture,
but such secrets, such secrets there

are given to us without words, perhaps
so we can hear, so we can hear the breakers.

I hear breakers and there is no peace,
there is no peace,
there is no peace, only stillness.


That was carthartic.