A word to the self

While searching for my light

Do not go mourning into the day,

Save all sighs for the black pit,

Sheltered in muteness,

Unsung, unseen.

Let the silent dawn catch you easy,

A perfunctory grin wrapping all wounded parts,

For skylarks need no grief.

Come spring, they'll be brooding over numbed days,

Keeping eyes dry and industrious hands weaving.

Let the spirit carry the burdened days

And the sickened core in healing pauses.

For a day,

For a night,

Forever.