rebecca-hoadley

The sun impishly dances
across my desk 
prancing between 
flaws and scratches
evidence of time.

It dances
across my face.
Endlessly laughing. 
It hides between lines 
uncovers years 
itself remaining unfading.

How can something so
unbending, adamant, true 
exist among the degeneration 
of everything
ever set into motion?

Its caress is taunting 
ever intoxicating 
unending. 
Tomorrow will never come 
never pulling the vial slowly closed.

To feel its warmth and company
 is to feel God’s smile 
a breath of hope.