AT THE END, AT THE BEGINNING

 Something ends.

The gray morning

covered in powdered snow.

Fear begets

a thousand shivering children;

the future, amidst them?

Hope is the Sun

of remembered skies,

hidden behind the clouds

of the mind,

trying to put to sleep

a thousand shivering children.

Something ends,

in us.

Something has began -

a stranger passing by,

a dark figure,

vanishing down the street?

Or one of the

thousand shivering children,

crying in our limp arms?

Hope is the Moon,

a silver disk

of a biting night,

cutting with the force

of a frozen truth,

shattering 

in reflections.

Something begins

in twice mirrored light.

15.12.2020