Through The Cracks
Sometimes those battles take an awful toll... We cleave to the slim margins of victory, having waged war and worse, saying to ourselves 'we have triumphed, we are here', we have made it through the storm and finally the fine weather breaks through the dim cloud, the shroud of our making. The tumult of our breaking. And we marvel in it's glory, barely realizing that the sun drenched joy, we used to employ no longer sits in the seat it used to, dethroned in the shock and the shell, the furrowed trenches where life went all to hell.
But what of the cost? Did we ever stop to consider, the awful toll, the bitter fruit suckled in the cold, the icy winds blown into the soul. On those battle-scared frays, did we ever stop to wonder on better days, how the torment and cost would tear a scar into the heart, changing forever the part of us that sat upon those summer hills, and sang with every golden trill of the blackbird, as it ripened the season with the glory of that noonday sun. Did we ever stop to wonder then, in the midst of the call, how the battle and the war would change it all. How much is lost when we say we have won?
Some things can never be taken back. Like memories, they only cast shadows... they only cast shadows.
So we pick up the world, and walk on, perhaps if we're lucky, one or two come along; But we're never the same, and once again, we must find a way to let love in. When all the doors and windows have fallen, we must find a way, through the cracks, to let the light come back.
© Richard Michael Parker 2013
