behind the rage
there is beauty
the fires that burn bright
hide the quiet of the afterdawn
that settles into the crevices
between the then and the to be
and in that quiet, a gentle voice wonders:
was it always this hard to sleep?
were the dreams always this complex?
whatever happened to the innocence of flight?
within the cage
there is wisdom
the vastness of the ocean
protects the isolation of the soul
that finds itself surrounded
by the cacophonies of never was
and in that din, a steady hand writes:
these fitful dreams are a justice
for a world that could never have been
because of the cruelty of this one
beneath the maze
there is serenity
the chill of the humus disguises
the warmth of the child’s heart
as she plays with the phantoms
of her own creation
and in those shadows, she is left to think:
here is the land i have been seeking
all
along
12.03.20 Clio