What truths
come through
in this new
soft light?
What words
will come,
before we see
the Sun?
What fates
will seal,
what days
will yield
to us
in times
to come?
What love awaits?
What game abates,
the solemn shift
of the sky?
What hatred breaks?
We do await
the coming
of a sign.
What day?
What hour?
What chord?
What note?
We hear
the song,
by writ,
by wrote.
We call,
but all
the echoes
song
is lost
somewhere
the way
along.
Meaning infused
in a morning.
Blue light comes
to chase the night
from our eyes.
We rise
to greet the angels
only to find
a wide open,
empty sky.
The same
as the stars reside.
Where we sat
fireside
in the night
and cried
at our plight.
Now,
we make it right.
HG – 2022
