A lumbering fear resonates under
the collar bone, something like a burr,
poking the skin and inflaming it.
Rain spatters the ground, and
grey clouds lie low, hanging heavy.
Seemingly the morning holds nothing
other than curdling gloom.
Definitely, not a brilliance
that strikes the system and regenerates.
Though interwoven between the darkening
folds is a brightness, disguised and
cleverly hidden. A brightness that
highlights each blade of grass,
the curve of each low-hanging cloud,
and springs forth in the glint of a
raindrop’s reflection. Seemingly under the
guise of shadow, light is everywhere.
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