A gray morning

“When I can no more stir my soul to move, and life is but the ashes of a fire; when I can but remember that my heart once used to live and love, long and aspire- O, be thou then the first, the one thou art; be thou the calling, before all answering love, and in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire.”

― George MacDonald, The Diary of an Old soul

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another day

another morning

the clouds hang low

and the brilliance of creation is

strangely muted

some mornings are like that

and sometimes

the inner world of heart and soul too

is gray and ashen

the fire of love has died

and hope merely smolders deep

within the depths

and one resents the day

wishing merely for it to be

over

so one can once again sink into the kind oblivion of sleep

on such days

one prays for the sun

for the brilliance of the spirit to shine

deep within

to chase away the gray

and wake the inner world

stir the old soul

so that the sullen embers

once more

blaze