The iron sledge forged of hate
Swung along it's familiar arch
And dashed to bits the fragile hope
The whispered chance, the gentle thought
That the corner has been finally turned
All lies broken with a bitter winter ahead
With no promised warmth, no guaranteed shelter,
Only the familiar grim face of despair as company
It felt but a short season when a dawning twilight had cast its cloudy rays, faint, flickering, and finite
Yet oh so nourishing and kindling
The smothering dark comes upon us once again
Threatening to leave not even shards of hope,
To remind that even shadow must pass.
But pass it must, through desperate struggle
Through fury and tears and fierce denial
That this is all that we are, we pick up the pieces, the precious fragments of a dream,
And dig in our heels, ready for the next round.
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