fireworks

Lamenting all we’ve lost,
  are losing, we watch things
    slipping through our fingers,
      like soapy water as we sing
        and wash our filthy souls; 

bathed in sorrow, drenched,
  submerged and almost, not quite,
    drowning in it....hope flutters up.
      bursts from hearts too full to hold
        it in, a limited illumination, 

exploding pyrotechnics, rising
  and then dissipating on the wind
    like ash from a funeral pyre;
      we're distorted, pale reflections,
        and slow of heart to believe

Liz McFadzean

Photo by Mary Schlott