Dying day steals breath from lungs
and leaves a vacuum –
a black hole where vacuoles blindly gasp.
It sets on hopes and dreams
and spirits them into the Underworld,
a black hole where Hope writhes and gnashes teeth.
Heart sinks with it,
pregnant with powerlessness,
a heaviness sensed rather than measured.
But this you know –
you survived another day.
You rose and breathed and battled the demon hordes
and denied them their pound of flesh.
You belong to the Club of those who are rising from the ashes,
scraping themselves off the bottom of the Man’s shoe,
reclaiming fragments of the mirror whose breaking ushered in the past
And you know that as sure as that sun is setting,
it will Rise,
and usher in a new day.
So you allow lungs to empty,
for in emptying,
they can be filled…