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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Spiritual · #1910066
On the beach, at the edge of darkness, a young man considers a future lived in despair.
“Hope Recreated”

At one moment the sun warms me entirely
and then it is gone.

Did it set, racing around the world,
giving me hope that I might again feel its warmth?

In a moments time, coldness and darkness
seems to invade, uninvited, yet persistent.
The bottle of pills I hold in my hand is uninvited as well.
The tiny pink capsules look so innocent,
but their deception is laid bare,
scrupulously explicit in my mind.

The cool breeze chills the tears on my face,          
even as apprehensions detached and cold,
chill my body to its essence.
There are no shadows to fear,
for where there is no light shadows do not exist.

Yet even amidst the quiet darkness,
the call of  a solitary seagull increases my own lonesomeness,
my acute cognizance of both mortal and divine abandonment.

I stare out to the obscure horizon
then pour a handful of small capsules into my hand,
more than enough to stop my constant hours of darkness.

I cannot count them, my hand veiled in the waxing twilight.
For one more eternity I stand at nightfall, hoping that cockcrow will come
and dawn will bring some promise of new life.

Still the darkness does not wane;
Relief is not imminent and my hand trembles.
Weeping, sobbing, howling in lament;
my heart moans, crying aloud “why have You forsaken me”?

Then, again, my shadow appears before me…
and another, vaster, beside mine. God?
At this moment, as the sun warms my back, dispelling coldness and darkness,
possibility is rekindled.

Tiny pink capsules fall through my fingers into the ocean waves
gradually diminishing as they roil in the water, disappearing into the ebbing tide.
Hope recreated. 
One day at a time.

© 2011 David M. James
© Copyright 2012 soulquest (dmjames at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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