Write from a place of hope
a place under the layers of taut skin
and dirty nails
and seeking mouths
and salted beads created in moments
to remember
dig
through the smog
of words and fears
breathed out by an inconsistent
environment of surviving voices
be thankful
for this place of hope
the light dim through the darkness
but shines still
and beckons
and beacons
cutting like diamonds
against mud-drenched glass
streaked but not shattered
mirrors, mirrored
until it bubbles through
bright and warm and is
upon your own skin
again
and Blinding
enough so you cannot see
past the fluorescence
so you cannot fall into
dancing shadows
and easy corners
pure, simple, tunnel-visioned
hope


Content Copyright 2011. Ami Lovelace. All Rights Reserved.