Morning Is Broken

In the fog, the lost wander on,
so pain comes with the rain
for somewhere a child is lost
and that pain is hard and real
we all know.

How this floor is slippery still, when wet
with an odd truth that sparkles like diamonds
cut from the sun in purple splendored hush
to quiet a mind.

In the dark, too, somewhere a disquieting permanence.
We should hold out the promise of the moon
for the one still lost and wandering,
wondering why, why,
if we thought we could
lasso it for this one stunned,
reel it in to dawn for her
and sunrise romance, renewal,
but a night that cannot be forgotten is pain too,
pain too great to get past.

Ah, to be where every morning
breaks like the first morning . . .

Yes, she’ll never be able to find that space.

* * * * *

Today’s writing prompt is


Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece as a comment below. I would love to read it : )

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