Monday Prompts 06: 'move it out into the sun. It will warm.'
‘Optimism’ by EC Belli
Rust morning. Again,
the incompetent heart speaks
the language of stones.
I tell you, in the voice
of the old poet: move it
into the sun. It will warm.
Like the fields and their seeds,
the clay and beams.
Happiness is a riot of endless
limbs. You say, Hope
is the light at the end —
I say, It is what keeps us
drenched and dredging
through this darkness
for one day more.
This time in Vancouver has not been the ethereal, creative outpouring I thought it was going to be: instead it has been a lot of sifting through painful, important lessons.
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