If everything were perfect to the end,
I wouldn’t know e’en when shown.
I’d miss those beautiful moments,
If they were all I’ve known.
If I had my way to do it all again,
I’d take the hits, the pain, the broken
To know that beauty dwells within
To see the framed minutes of love spoken.
My heart is full, not of perfection,
But of wounded walls of steady iron.
Yet light flickers through each section,
Striping my cavern, I can bask full on.
Knowing those cracks as blessing,
Seeing light when it comes.
Weary traveler don’t be missing
where your moments are from.
Because I write with the joyous
Because the rest is so dark
Jealousy attacks even the pious.
But they should know a tree by its bark.
What pleasantry isn’t birthed in sorrows?
What mirth comes from white?
But stained and pierced by arrows
We make our way to the Light.
At its feet, we hear the bird’s song full around
Only because before—it was silence.
At its feet we feel warmed, safe, and sound
Because before, heart bent cold with violence.
The shadow shows me what’s light
And thus I write of happy things.
Because we know so well what’s not right,
I look for those moments where my heart sings.
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