Mnemonic Grace

Useless despair.
Vehement withdrawal.
Dying. Worse than dying.
A damned soul, blanketed in apathy.
Sleep-Fallen.

It's a lie.
There is no stillness for you.
No sleep.
Stagnant is not unmoving, but
Ever growing fetor.

It can get worse.
And you swear
You don't care.

- Except -

The recurring gift of
The First Day.
Blackness broken by
Mother and Sun.
The new beginning.

- So It Was Called -

And it's only hours before
Mother gives the gift to you
Again.

She moves, so the rays may
Burn out the odious lie
From beneath your eyelids.
And the urging warmth, again,
Stirs belief.

Belief in zenithal possibilities for you.
You are really listening now
When Mother says to you-
Now Go.
Make something of yourself.