There Is No Healing

A Year of Sonnets — 041/365

Photo by Andras Kovacs on Unsplash

It’s not enough to rise anew; disgrace
will cling to muscle, bone, and drag you back
until your corpse is drifting in cold space,
your light, exterminated, in the black
and hollow wastelands, miles from the stars
that once you sought, back in the better days
when you were young and mighty, fighting hard,
your lovely radiance on full display.

And then the crack, the music’d break of glass,
the exodus of light from deep within;
now every gilded hope you dared amass
will fall to nothingness, and once again
you stand bereft and lonely at the end
of every hope whereon you dared depend.