Hero, Keep Hope

Somewhere,
maybe in a place beyond my seeing,
the sun is rising
and turning the morning sky
from midnight to blushing.
Russet boughs
curve to hold
the pale limbs of my being
and I feel
weightless.
Someone,
maybe with a voice I’ve forgotten,
once suggested
lovers are born to suffer.
But while the sun’s breath
reaches down to caress
the sweep of my brow,
I cannot believe
that life is suffering,
but that life is
beauty as we know it.
Because of the neutral,
the gentle going
and the youthful changelings,
I do not long for perfection.
I want nothing more
than what should be,
no matter what it may bring to me.