a small silhouette sits on the far edge of a roof
seeming to be leaning against a lonely full moon
framed by soft white stars
flickering in and out, barely visible
amidst the solitary darkness, all else is invisible
howling, a chilling gale sweeps through the air,
abruptly interrupting the silence
dying as quickly as it had risen
crying, it softly sails off through the night
leaving nothing in its wake but darkness
darkness, and a small shaking silhouette
this silhouette shivering in the night
an involuntary cry escaping
into the silence, the sky is quaking
stars quivering, each threatening to fall
almost as if the wind controls the stars
as if when falling stars detach
from their high-up heavenly posts
the wind casts them down with triumph
as if those far-off heavenly hosts
tremble at the touch of each gust,
even these stars are not above the wind
maybe all that’s known to man
is fated to fall, assigned to tragedy
because the silhouette whose shoulders silently shake
who struggles so immensely each shallow breath to take
has so much fear, is it even worth imagining?
that though her every hope has been dashed
though now she sits quivering
on this roof with the moon,
that she’ll push to her feet unabashed?
because that temptation - to collapse, to crumble
to let the cruel gale keep one down once he stumbles
that temptation is strong - it’s been there all along
and not even these stars can escape it
yet if each strong gale were able to completely overcome
would not all stars fall to earth,
cast aside, made worthless
as raindrops in a hurricane?
if this gust that’s torn its way
through the small silhouette’s heart
were destined to destroy her
would she not have been cast from this roof?
under the light of the twinkling stars,
the silhouette stifles a tired yawn
with deep weariness that’s set in from each mental battle
she’s fought against herself for weeks on end
this silhouette has been through much,
through tragedies untold
but as clear as the diamond scattered sky
is the evidence of strength within her soul
and there, under the lackluster stars close to death
with firm resolution and an intake of breath,
she does the impossible: she stands.
she stands, with a peaceful smile of grace
in spite of the surrounding darkness
there’s joy in her eyes, on her tired face
almost as if she trusts the sun to rise,
to chase away this eternal darkness
and almost as if she controls the stars
as if her hope fuels the fire
of each faraway burst of light
the dark sky suddenly brightens
each star burning stronger than before
darkness, what once encompassed her world,
has been cast away; it’s fallen at last
and as if the sun itself has sensed the fall
its bright smile rises,
spreading through the vast atmosphere
robed in white and gold,
embracing everything in a warm, pure light
maybe all that’s known to man
is fated to fall, assigned to tragedy
everything that stands is vulnerable
to the gales, to the gusts of this world
but maybe with vulnerability
comes a strength unmatched by the wind
maybe there’s hope
for those stumbling as though their world is crumbling
for those tripped up by their every past mistake
for those left in the cold as they cry, as they quake
for the lost, for the broken souls
with shattered dreams and fading goals
maybe there’s hope
a silhouette stands, there on the edge of a roof
once quavering, now standing unwavering
in the arms of the rising sun
there’s a daring glint in her gaze
that seems to speak for itself:
rise, you sad, weary souls,
be the ones who could;
rise, you broken vessels;
be the ones who stood.