Peace

Descending into a morass of human emotions...neither bottled-up nor laid bare...but
hurling themselves at me...like errant missiles...I come at last to a silent refuge...where I
might ponder at last...the meaning of your farewell...leaving me in utter
devastation...totally devoid of hope... And yet...far across the infinite black pit...I see a
tiny spark...a flicker of hope...a flame rising phoenix-like out of the ashes of despair...
Hope, one again, reaches into my breast to clutch my heart in her never failing
warmth...and I am at peace.

© Skya Wode
07 January 1998