When visibility is poor
you have to trust
the destination
keyed into your GPS;
flying blind
in a snowstorm
will always involve some level of
fear
but if you rely
on your instruments,
your faith
will
give you
wings
Six months into your sentence,
and still you hang on.
Grapes are long gone.
Lazy summer days are just a
snapshot in a drawer.
Long cold nights
stretch interminably,
yet here you are,
refusing to let go.
What belies your brittle,
what glues seam to stem?
Do you have
Counsel
with power to pardon?
Do you have
Representation
to plead your case?
Do you have
eyes
to see past judgement,
secret stored wine to
sing yourself brave?