sadness saved the soul

he had his last three minutes with his grandfather with parkinsons hoping it wouldn't be his last three minutes.

and she had to feel the disgusting touch of hands at an age far too young.

she is encompassed in a sadness that never sleeps.

and he has to sleep every night with the calloused fingers of his mistakes running roughly through his hair.

he cried harder than you can imagine trying to light a candle of hope.

maybe we just are who we are but it feels more like hell shapes us in its fires.

morning comes dressed exactly like she always does but to our eyes bruised by nights' cold fists she will never look the same again.

perhaps we will learn to fight back.
some day we will learn to rage at the dying of the light inside of our eyes.
tomorrow we will leap, not off the edge of our buildings but into the arms of our lovers or our friends or our mothers.

the night threw its punches but we haven't surrendered.