Albert Camus: "There is no love of life without despair about life."
My door opens on the day:
The sun rises in a gold satin vest,
avenue's alive with feet,
air hums with photons.
Hordes of clouds bustle the horizon,
hordes of sparrows, small gods of hope,
hustle crumbs at the curb.
I'll take a sparrow's chance
and reach into this day's pocket -
for some tiny crumb of a gist,
for flags of silken magic
the color of prayers,
for energy to believe
in the beginning of the universe,
in fragile love,
in timeless beauty,
to believe there's more
than despair to believe in -
something more evolved
than endless repetition.
Then, this applause of sunlight
on show on such a showy day,
this rendered watercolor of a city street,
its people, and feathered deities,
remind me the universe has begun,
and, timeless beauty is fragile enough
to justify belief in both despair and love.
Belief
26 Tuesday May 2026
Posted in poems
Poetry on the run 