Forward, I am pushing.
The weight is heavy,
but I believe in the cause.
I am waiting for the relief,
the coming together,
the wholeness.
My eyes are on the next moment,
The following dream.
What does heaven see in me?
In my future?
I have so many hopes,
and desires.
But wait. I am stopped.
Something seizes at my soul.
“You cannot do this alone.”
I pause and look around me,
noticing the emptiness.
“Who will go with me?”
“Will life always be this bleak?”
All I see are the ashy tones
of grey and empty outlines
of humanity.
These are colorless shells,
Dark coverings for beings of light.
I reach around me,
and grasp for a connection,
belonging and an impression
of comfort.
I am starving,
drowning for the
holding of life between me
and another.
When I gain the courage
to meet another soul,
I ask to know them, to know their heart.
“Would you tell me your story?”
“What has created who you are?”
“Who and what do you adore?”
This knowing is a sense of unveiling
and unravelling
the beauty that already exists,
the iridescence,
and the reflection of
rainbows underneath.
The work of love is
a painting of a soul
in reverse,
allowing humanity to see
the warmth and the
color of one’s heart
despite the dimness
and pain of conformity.
It is allowing for vision
in a world that remains
beneath the clouds.
Brialee Turner 