pretty ponies

fastened to this reality

I clung to the surreal

hoping I could pull it close

enough to jump

from here to there

bridging the gap of madness

but never stepping in it

landing in the dreamland

of hopes and wishes

and pretty pretty ponies

I didn’t have the strength

the resolve to draw it near

so I let go and found

I was a mighty mare

all along

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grace of tomorrow

there is a given grace in tomorrow

in the granting of more hours

more heartbeats

more heaved breaths

the handing over of our old eyes

to new dawning light

where the pink horizon spells out

your page has turned

into a new chapter of you

where you can turn any turn

walk any walk

talk any talk

you can keep writing the same story

over and over

or

you can forgive the you of used to be,

embracing the you of wish to be,

and just be the you

of right now

where you belong

it’s never easy to find your way back

fingers numb from cold mornings

lost amongst the sticks and dead leaves

turned around in the misty woodland

until you can’t remember from where you came

as you stupor about with furrowed brow

your mind wanders and you begin to hear

your own footsteps on those dried leaves

steady breath in the rise and fall of your ribs

and you are here, where you are right now

nowhere else to be as the pink dawn

welcomes you back to where you belong

write your own story

in the round of the world

we cycle

in story

of what we’ve come to know

what is predicted

the expected we have come to know

but we create

these expectations

as we look through the glass

searching for the rain cloud

or peer out the pane for golden glow

we build our expectations

on where our eyes focused yesterday

it is in hope

when you cast new glances

that your tomorrows will fall into

the last chapters you wrote

with brass quill of silver linings

because you write your story

for yourself now