Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. . .
When did we buy the lie that happiness is the means to happiness?
That what feels good is right and what is painful is wrong?
Hungry is not comfort. Thirsty is not pleasure.
The endless gray sky feels forever like 11 o'clock in the morning . . .
no sun to guide and you must check your watch to remind you of the passing of the hours.
Night ebbs slow. Day is a fading in and out of light. Artless.
We used to wear our grief.
Black for a day, a month, a season, a year . . .
To show loss.
To let the world around us know we carried sorrow.
Appearance had meaning.