Holding Out for What is Left

Long after the storm fades

and the squalls have whittled to dust

He stands at the edge of the precipice

wailing in misery and burning with

Loneliness.

If only he had been faster

If only he had been better

If only he had been gone

but he is not, and all that's left is

Resentment.

The blue dot keeps spinning

Seeds grow and weeds die

He crouches at the edge of the world

above the crypt that holds what remains

Darkness closes in and the smoke breeds

Uncertainty.

But light pierces forth; breaching the wrath

of the twilight and scattering the smog

He sobs at the edge of what's lost

Tears springing from the cracks in his facade

A breath of freedom escapes the chains of

Guilt.

Warmth caresses his weary soul

sounds of life radiate through the barren land

He kneels at the edge of the precipice

Despite it all, laughter ripples through

the ashes float past; a new spirit rises

that is how he heals, that is his

Gratitude.