“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.”
― Sarah Williams, Twilight Hours: A Legacy of Verse
I was staring down at my hands earlier,
fragile looking thing; I’ve always been a worrier.
Yet, weak as they seem, I’ve always been scared
anything I touched would break, no matter how I cared.
Are these hands of a monster? Are these bones even mine?
I asked these questions, and replied, “Whatever, it’s fine.”
If I’m meant to be like this, if I’m the only common factor
in all that has happened, then I’ll go forward a smiling actor
and ignore the thorns I’ve watered, grown in my chest.
There’s nothing I can do, when I like how they’re pressed.
And yet, somehow the setting soul, laid in darkness,
met sunshine, and realized it wasn’t quite so starless.
Someone with a heart like mine tripped into my cave,
and at fi