The ground has been placed back under my feet,
during eye of tempered storm where peace and pain meet,
to merge together as battle scars of long lost brothers,
who fought the war at different ends, but made it out together.
Languid leaves laying lonely still,
to become soil of earth of which we till;
what dies today can be seen in tomorrow,
they say nothing’s new, and all we do is borrow,
but burrow do we deeply in soil of famished self,
to find fresh words as healing herbs labeled upon the shelf.
Though some may never find, even as they grow old,
that firefly light that frees us from the war in our souls.
Dear You, Search for it dearly and soon you will find,
all hopes you’ve ever hoped manifested beyond the mind.
by Kevon Simpson 2014 ©