p(i)e(a)ce

I wish I knew how to ease the ache of a timeline erased.
In the calm after the summer rain, you feel it, I know.
The pressure of days and months and years.
Generations. Kids and their kids and their kids.
Light as a feather on that always-beating organ in your chest.
Tomorrow comes, whether we will it or not.
Do not believe in me;
I am so very flawed and will break your rabbit-quick heart.
Believe in tomorrow,
in the pinks and golds of another day coming.
It's yours to take,
for shelter or adventure,
it's always, always yours.