What keeps us alive, what allows us to endure?We wither like fields if someone closedoes not rain their
I think it is the hope of loving, or being loved.
I heard a fable once about the sun going on a journey
to find its source, and how the moon weptwithout her lover’s
warm gaze.We weep when light does not reach our hearts.
Hope abides; therefore I abide.
Countless frustrations have not cowed me.
I am still alive, vibrant with life.
The black cloud will disappear,
The morning sun will appear once again
In all its supernal glory.