This is not the end.
It is just another day.
A bitter clutching.
Somehow she will love, enough.
And will continue to speak truth.
Their voices are her voices
which hold power for her, only
if she listens
to the clutch of their ancient lies.
Murky in message, mighty in corruption.
She will not surrender to their splintered truths.
This is just another day
to hold on to her children’s laughter,
to their questions, to their need.
These she grabs on to fiercely
and holds on another day;
telling herself the truth found in wanting
[laughter, questions, need]
more than ancient lies and madness.
She is strong.
As she speaks there is found a certainty
in the granules of this goodness, pure and sweet.