Fragments of Cassandra

They ask me
why the light
has left my eyes.

As though
it vanished
by surprise.

But hope
was never stolen
in a day.

It faded
every time
I heard,
“We’ll see.”
“Maybe.”
“Someday.”

Certainty
may break a heart-

then leave.

But uncertainty
teaches it
to grieve
without permission
to believe.

It is a wound
that will not close,
a flower
afraid to bloom.

A candle
fighting every breeze,
certain
it will lose the room.

The light
didn’t leave my eyes.

It simply grew
too tired
to keep waiting
for tomorrow

to decide
whether
it belonged there.



Be’ahava,
Cassandra