Tell me of a day without struggle, a day without pain
If there be such a day, let it remain a secret to no man
Let it fill our ears and tremble in our own throats
For such a day is a gift from the universe
Bequeathed upon the masses
An approximated apology, focused on redeeming malice
The brightly shining sun would focus its strength on its object
Taking aim at his soul, meaning to warm it, looking to extract it
Taking from him all that was harmful from tarrying seconds
Replacing cruelty and hatred with thoughts that resemble forgiveness
But in themselves they are not forgiveness
Forgiveness, being but a specter, usurped by memories grown grainy
Forgiveness is so sallow and downtrodden, unconvincing
No, the thoughts projected by the early year’s sun are not so
They are empty of reminisces, void of meaning
Shining and new, redemptive and rejuvenating
Yet we approach them with a quiver of arrows fastened from our past
Expending ourselves in fighting its gaze and retreating to our caves
Where our memories are sheltered
To ponder what it means that this intruder has returned
Stroking the identities it tried to quell and weeping until overtaken by slumber
If ever there has been a day without pain and without struggle
Verily, the night which followed has it cast asunder