Pure

Oh, if I could write pure poetry
Distilled seven times
So it burned on your tongue
And warmed in the pit of your stomach
And sent fire racing to your fingertips and toes
So perfectly refined it had no aftertaste
Nothing but the memory of a flavor
So exquisite
That you had to taste it again

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The Renewal of the Promise

It had been so long

I’d forgotten the taste

of hope

The effervescent tingle

bubbling up

warming, buoyant

 

The sight of something more

than endless tomorrows

stretching to a flat horizon

 

The hope of something astonishing

in this life

not just the next

Hope for today

not just for tomorrow

Hope for me

not just for us

 

I’d forgotten that life eternal

begins now