Rush

Humbled, caught in such rapture.
Clinging to joy like a root to a tree.
No longer myself, yet loved still.
Understanding fate’s anatomy.
Chaos now silenced, calm like a church.
We pray in the days that unfold.
Burning them fully like candle wicks of life.
Threatened each day by the wind that is blowing.
From mouths that don’t know how to kiss.
How to love.
Let the world caress, and slice you deeply.
Allowing the wonder-kind to slip in.
Soaking in the blood, underneath your skin.
For these are days of letters unsent.
Of feelings unkempt, not knowing how to unfold.
Now time is falling like sand in a jar.
Borrowed, like a promise never meant to be kept.
And tomorrow is never guaranteed.