adventures in dysthymia

Tuesday, July 06, 2004


It is the time of hurting,
that harvest we always knew
must follow such a planting--
beneath the first full moon
of Spring, our crop was sown.
No matter, no matter; you must
hurt me as I will you,
for giving and forgiving
have their parts. Each dawn
whispers of the day
to come, our redemption.
Each dawn sings alleluia.

Stephen Brooke ©2004

Typically, I slip into mystical/religious symbolism. I guess that's just part of my makeup.

No comments: