The Sighting
Stumbling through the darkness
I moved with no eyes,
no arms, no ears,
just a distant memory
of objects in deep thought,
like a river looking for it’s origin,
running with no eyes
but a feel of the twist and turns
leading back to the source
and a silent authority
telling it to run;
that there is a light,
and all uncertainty will pass
like the seasons of
joy and sorrow
winding around each other,
like the fear of the night
running into the light of day.
Time is a messenger of hope
arriving at the shores of despair
with news of a forthcoming joy,
a sighting of a
glimmer of light,
a beacon pointing to
the end of the tunnel.
All viruses and disasters
have run their course.
All things have come and passed.
Time has galloped in
on it’s white horse and
shortened the gap between
despair and prosperity.
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