Once, I had heard every word as
becoming whispers in the world;
I'd hidden from their quiet calls,
lost amongst narrow, dim-lit halls;
I had permitted Hope to dry,
become brittle, soundlessly die,
fearing that Fate had split it's core,
like plaster fallen to the floor.
I woke to evident sunset
on Days I no longer forget;
I knew I'd been too long in place,
desperate to touch some gentle grace;
I learned words as Beauty past harms,
witnessing the span of my arms,
stretched beyond, even, my own will;
finding Hope lives within me, still.