Maybe this world is made of porcelain
So smooth and yet on the brink
Of falling and breaking over and over again
There are old stains on the pure white
Stains that do not fade with time
A stain can appear within one night
Without reason nor rhyme
Still the porcelain gleams
Beautifully
As she shows her polished, pieced-back-together smile.
As I am hurt by a heartless world, I believe
This world is populated by porcupines.
And I cannot conceive
The thought of continuing without raised defensive lines
That will protect me from puncture wounds
That poke holes in my dreams
Like the pin-pricked starry sky some midnight in June
But at times, not what it seems.
Still I carry on
I will be strong
And bear my own spikes myself.
As I watch a firy sun set soulful in the west
I imagine a world resurrected from the ashes
A joyful pride rises in my chest
As I imagine healing from the hardest lashes
And bruises life throws this way
As the sun rises each morning, trailed by Hope
We rejoice in the gift of light another day
Meanwhile we have surpassed learning to cope—
We have discovered our wings
We have learned to fly
We remember the things
That encourage us to try
And help us rise up in beauty and grace
And enjoy the hope in the sunbeams on our face.
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