Whispers of Love

I cannot turn from the dark to the light,
Because I can see no light shining for me.
Blind people have to have courage
To hope in the dark, to have faith
In what they cannot see.

I wish I knew what was certain and sure,
The way I used to when there was just one of me.
Now there are bits of me scattered here and there,
A collection of old parts,
Not a coherent whole.

An unworthy vessel?
I don’t think so.
Still I hear whispers of love
From my family around me,
Strengthening me against the cruel nights.

When I break, pieces go flying:
Self-esteem, confidence, co-ordination,
With the tears that drip down,
Streaking my face an angry red
As the vivid memory of the past.

I am immeasurably older,
My elders become innocents,
Knowing nothing of the inner ageing
That comes from deep soul-knowledge
Of the tree of good and evil.

I am stubborn yet. I will fight
To stay in the race, albeit running slower.
Now the rules have all been changed
I am not a loser, but a winner in my own right.