love still is

Artist's Winner

Kathryn Sadakierski

all the lights in the city are not enough 

to lessen the sorrow inside.

every window could be brightened 

by the luminous soul of a happy heart,

but it seems like nothing

could reach far enough to touch

this burden carried on your shoulders,

no window of time could open wide enough

to make you feel the fresh words of the air

whispering to try again, to not let go,

because, still, you can’t lift yourself up

from under the weight of self-doubt.

every skyscraper points to what can be,

the endless possibilities of sky

meant to be scaled,

soared through,

but for you, it’s just another reminder

of what heights will always be too distant,

the taste of a success you’ll never know,

a joy your hands can never hold.

the stars are shattered shards

of dreams, more fragile than glass,

scattered throughout the dome

that keeps you contained, afraid

of where you’ll never go,

of a life disappeared

before it could ever really be lived.

no one, though, can stop

the moon from rising again,

the stars from inspiring wishes

even when the well is empty,

and no pennies are left in the fountain

to glitter in the silent darkness,

so while I take another breath,

trying to summon the courage

to weave my way through 

the tangle of unknowns,

I look at the quiet face of the moon,

more eloquent than any well-versed poem,

like a mother with her arm around you,

encouraging you to find your way 

among the stars shawled around her,

waiting for you, hoping

your dreamer’s heart will remember its way home.

when all the lights of a city aren’t enough,

love still is.

Kathryn Sadakierski is a 22-year-old writer whose work has appeared in Critical Read, Halfway Down the Stairs, Literature Today, NewPages Blog, Origami Poems Project, Silkworm, Toyon Literary Magazine, and elsewhere. She holds a B.A. and M.S. from Bay Path University.

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