Beauty in the Truth

Elsa Sroka painting.

Elsa Sroka painting.

Winter wounded me;
A gaping, bloody hole
Is all I have left.

How did she know
My weakness,
Did she smell it on my breath?

I sit and wait for time,
For the wind to bring her back,
I sit and I wait.

But all I get is Spring.
She whispers in my sleep,
She drops a soft, new blanket of snow at my feet.

‘Wake up,’ she says, ‘look around and see;
Your entire world is glistening white,
Old failures and new beginnings alike.’

And I tell myself to open my eyes,
And I open them,
And I weep at the beauty in the truth of it all.

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