This is Laryalee Fraser's second poem posted on my site. This is beautiful. - poetheart 05/19/02
We cup our hands to catch the sunlight,
press its warmth against our wounds;
between our now and our tomorrow,
moisture-laden shadows wait.Our scuffmarks show our hesitation --
surely there's another route?
We must go on. We grope for balance,
skirt the outer edge of hell.We hear a trailing chant of childhood
snagged on branches, sparse and frail;
"I think I can" our only option
once the darkness settles in.We'll chase the night to its conclusion,
wait for finger-strokes of dawn
to loosen pain's relentless hunger,
smooth the surface of our scars.
© 2002 by Laryalee Fraser