---

∴

the comforts of quiet mornings
can mend the mightiest of yesterdays
and fortify the mind
as it hopes again
foolishly,
in today.

 

and isn’t that the only way to hope?

 

as a fool might?

 

in dawn and solitude,
we path through the impossible
and reason in the absurd,

and then,

see
steps in the insurmountable,
and rise
unscalable walls.

 

if it weren’t for a fool’s hope
and a vacant Love’s promise,

i think i would surely slip.
i think i would lose my grip.

but these things believed,
even foolishly so,
are food enough
for survival of flesh
and height of soul.

∴

 

 

---