To find….

As we feel to find
the shape of self,
that rustling in the
dark, and fumbling

through the halls of
life, where light is
fragile, stark, so does
soul now whisper,

in heady tones of
grief, that we may
hear and recognise
who we are at least.

And in the mortal
yearning, where hope
is calling still, we
hold our arms in

act of grace, and
draw on bitter will.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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