Between winter and spring,
the dull browns look dirty and the world seems in lack.
There is no green that heals,
No yellow that cheers,
No orange that gives hope,
And no red that brings joy.
With pain of loss, abuse or shame,
the laughter, the hope, the joy, is all gone.
We are stripped down to our skins,
to the rawness of of our soul,
and we don’t know if we will ever come back again to who we were.
in the brown
in the dirt
in the despair,
there is still who we are.
There is still life.
We are not defined by what we show others.
We are defined by what we don’t.
We shall grow,
We shall bloom again.
We are just in the pause between winter and spring.