What May Come

The daylight comes

and it is rare

that we are one,

breathe the same air.

Eyes cast up

among the clouds,

daring the Earth

to pull us down.

A frigid wind,

a blanket white,

but in our bed

the warm respite

from battles lost

and battles won,

we share one fate

of what may come.

 

The steel-grey sky,

the heavy sighs.

I know there’s pain,

or both our sides.

Today our wounds

will have to wait

and heal a while

while we abate.

Out of the strain,

out of the Sun

our tight embrace

of what may come.

 

The war remains,

it rages on.

The enemy,

tomorrow’s dawn.

The sweat and toil,

the conflicts go

on and on;

tomorrow’s sold.

Today is ours,

stolen away,

amongst these sheets

the world abstains.

A moment here,

a moment there

is all we get

in this affair.

Today is ours,

the world we’ve shunned,

still lies in wait,

of what may come.

 

HG – 2018

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