At this time

flowers1 029

It was a time for believing.

When even the clearest of things had become sullied.

Smudged by her own fingerprints.

By her attempts at adjusting the glass to catch any bit of light, and redirect it towards a point.

Any point that would allow her conscience to rest.

To find a purpose for it all.

But there was no point to find in this rubble.

No sharp ends to identify as a purpose.

Nothing jagged had survived when it all came tumbling down.

Even the sharpened edges of her hardened heart had crumbled and plumed like powder when they hit the ground.

Leaving a now vulnerable heart waiting for its own dust to settle.

A heart with no armor, left with only its faith.

Not yet able to see all that had been made level during the upheaval.

Its only job now was to wait.

If it could just be patient through this momentary blindness.

It would see a brand new landscape captured through the lens of renewed sensitivity.

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8 thoughts on “At this time

  1. Wonderful writing. I especially liked “But there was no point to find in this rubble. No sharp ends to identify as a purpose. Nothing jagged had survived when it all came tumbling down.” —–Chagall

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