The First Light

A familiar mystery

The unknown that all know

With no particular shape to her face, she is still easy to recognise

A warrior summoned to attack the dark, and unveil the gift of light once again

She is the silent promise of better moments

Nightmares wither away in the face of her calm

She nestles in the before of everything, a glimpse of perfection

That which died yesterday will resurrect from her warm kiss

She may be holding daggers-perhaps a bunch of roses; the uncertainty evolves into choice, and with that her presence becomes a chance

With a profound understanding, she embraces the despaired hearts that wish her away

Through the winds of rejection, her commitment never wavers

She exhales an innocence that gives birds courage to fly, and the faith to sing

Her glory is reserved for survivors

She is the merciful creation that delivers another try

The opening prayer for all tongues

“Morning,” they say.

 

Image externally sourced

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