6:04 AM.
Somewhere over the Atlantic.
The descent
into self
Is not the familiarity
of oneself,
But capacity
for another
The demise
of pain
Is not the birth
of pleasure,
But discovery
of depth
The trap
of laughter
Is not the oasis
of strength,
But a respite
from shackle
The scatter
of night
Is not the kindle
of light,
But a ripple
of yesterday
This longing
for you
Is not the promise
of return,
But a bottle
afloat at sea
The certainty
of betrayal
Is not the gateway
to redemption,
But a scar
turned to wound
The burden
of feeling
Is not the breath
lost on words,
But a bridge
across forever