• Discarded Days


    What have we discarded cutting through tunnels…
    we must have plodded to quarry from lives we
    might have been accidentally given? What loves
    have we found, what hearts have we lost? Layers
    of clay, cracked stones, and silt could build us our
    houses of hurts and ruptured dreams. Not a home.
    But we take care to wake up to days we can shape,
    to moments we could mould like delicate bowls
    whence we share victual and drink for our hungry
    and thirsty souls. When travel becomes a burden
    of faithlessness or pain, we call each other out:
    Be brave, hold on, take on the world if we must!
    When these passageways fall dark, we walk on.
    After all, our lives are not made of discarded days.


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