Trials of the days

How many times does the world have to turn

Before there is a respite for that which

It is a terrible curse for to yearn.

How often then, in the dark morns light

Do the flames go out, doused by fright.

If the day does pass, the sun will fly

Across the vaulted prison of the sky.

As dawn breaks and night falls, so life

is shattered and tripped by terrible strife.

Amidst the storm, there is an eye of calm

Sanctuary against the wind and rage, balm

For the soul, daily to rescue the spark

Which danced once in the distant dark.

The calm to be found, the wind to be fought

These are the trials of the days, always sought.

My calm and storm both caught in one diametric gift

Sent from heaven, destined by fate my soul to lift.