I am slowly sinking
Into a hole
Whose bottom I cannot see,
And on walls that encircle me
My hands grope for answers.
Soft against the sky,
I see the outlines of a tree,
One familiar to me
In a past life
That was only yesterday.
In the approaching twilight,
My tree inclines its silver branches
Towards my reaching hands.
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4 comments:
Seems like hope.
Hope can come in forms that you do not anticipate, in the most miraculous ways.
Up, Down, Reaches, and Light. There's a peace in the sinking of daylight and rise of shadow, and your wonderful tree -- a good moment for people (like me) who feel the dark this time of year. Peace.
Thank you, Rebekah.
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