every riven thing

every riven thing

note to self

looking around, it
all seems bruised—
maimed from the get go
and yet I hold hope
of a loving outcome
I know that hope is futile
yet I cup it in my hand
a delicate swallowtail of faith
bold black markings on
dandelion yellow

that’s why I read novels
but never thrillers. a complex
ending, okay, but positive, please.
there’s enough negligence—
and worse—right here,
dealt out on a daily basis.
our world, straight on:
starvation, murder, fires
but riven hearts radiating love—
piercing light, pouring
through the cracks like suns,
generous and free

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.

I welcome comments and discussion!

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