The Promise of New Life

The promise of new life

is preached.

To all darkness, light will come.

With every winter, spring follows.

I’m not so sure.

“I don’t have a problem,”

you insisted,

even as you popped the tab at 10 a.m.

“I cannot - will not - forgive!”

she shouted,

even as I cried “I’m so sorry.”

Darkness only deepened.

Cool breezes stiffened into freezing wind.

The candle I offered flickered out.

The warmth I generated chilled to zero.

“Wait” - the preacher continues -

“This, too, shall pass.”

But - I know - not always.

Some eyes never open.

Some hearts never thaw.

What is mine to do?

Who am I to be?

——

In the black of warm summer nights,

winged bugs dart about,

invisible

but for a sliver of a second,

when, afire,

they exclaim,

“I am here!”

Both mate and predator

descend,

potential death and life

blend.

The winner in that brief flash?

What matters?

The desire -

the quest -

for life,

shone bright.

______

I long to leave the darkness

of your willful blindness.

I need the warmth

of other people.

And yet,

Invisible, mostly,

I remain,

near to you,

near to her.

Why?

Maybe,

I hope,

within your dark night,

in spite of her icy stare,

If I dare to flash

a microsecond

of kindness,

a hint of love,

something will happen.

And yet, I know,

it may not.

But,

I ask myself,

what matters?