Life bleeds through

fragile fingertips,

too powerless

and too late

to inspire a change

in the caustic rhythm

of love and loss,

 

oozing between the layers

of conflicted dreams,

fermenting within

the cauldron

of weary minds

too stubborn to quit

yet too exhausted to persevere,

hovering between collapse and success,

between rapture and distress,

 

as I wait for them to come back to me.

 

I wait for the tide to recede,

for the wind to blow,

for the Earth to transform

these tumbling moments

into something unconditional.

 

I wait for climbing souls

to turn around and

look at the view

brewing between

certainty and doubt.

 

I wait for a time

when restless spirits

come home to sleep, to work,

to love, to lose,

 

to tend to the past

like a wounded warrior

while embracing the present

with the nourishing attention

of someone who chooses

to fight for life over

succumbing to death.

 

 

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2016