Future Days

how much darker will the days grow,
when might we find the dawn
of a new beginning;
hope is a gossamer thread
and our hands are blunt instruments,
clinging in desperation,
we beg a sign,
for the light we see
is a confusion of potentialities,
and we hunger for substance -
it can't all come from within -
something to reward our faith,
that better days lie ahead
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