Sometimes it defies me
and I am left groping about in the basement,
the exhaustion of yesterday’s staircases
sending me downwards
in silence and damp.

But there are eyes
that see the bruises which I stroke
and faces which know bruises worse
than any I have known today
and kept their smile.

And there is joy
which death has proven strong;
it bears my scars like nails
and stands in wait until I take
its hand into the day.

And there are arms
which reach into my basement and
hold what wounds I cannot know
and light a fire, bright and clear
in the anguish of the dark.

2 thoughts on “Joy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s