The Light Always Wins

Dawn. The red sky creeps over the quarry’s edge,
a warning perhaps, not that you need one.

Each day a battle. Each day comes with a warning.
Fight, or lose the day. Fight, or lose your life.

You stand at the quarry’s crest, feeding off the light.
You grow,

stronger each moment you do not fall,
each moment your prayers fall back upon your shoulders.

Let the skies warn you. It has become a game you play.
The Light always wins.

About this poem.

A dark morning here, inside and out. Grey and lifeless. But I have poetry. I have prayer. And prayer comes back to us, the gentlest, most powerful arrow in the quiver.

Light always wins.

Tom