When in the morning you feel full
not of the whistles sung by birds,
but of the dark, remembered pains
felt in dreams long left behind–
do not recoil or fear the thought.
For you are not the weaker sort
who cannot feel the heat of shame,
nor face the cold of cool reprieve.
I heard it said when I was young
that pain would fade if given time;
but that is talk to soothe a child
and other older, weaker friends.
So lift your eyes and hum a prayer
that guilt once old will rise anew
and grief will fill your veins with ice
to conquer any passing fire.
For you must stand before your vain
and see yourself within the glass,
dressed in pearls without deceit,
and softly hum an honest song.