The Great Schism
My bright side is in the morning light.
When noon tolls,
darkness encroaches the borders
of my soul.
There is a March on the corner
of my greatness.
Yet the smile from a flower’s stem
can send me weightless.
There is a chance for upheaval
In every beginning.
Though, I plant my dreams in soil.
Nurture is through practitioning.
There is a shatter in the crease
of every minute.
That which is far greater than ourselves
then we could have ever imagined.
Mirrored time is merely the epicenter
of one’s ending
to another’s beginning.
There is a line of spotted glory
earmarking our own schism.
Love is threatened
to the left of our searching, while the right,
the brightest side clings to our love’s story.
When Night Cannot Sleep