Days of dark becoming

In days of dark becoming the child was led,
in moments sucked through anger's
teeth, and years which bled in bitter grief,
as if the angels had decreed, in the instant
of crowning, that sorrow would be carved
upon the palm, as indelible time-line,
and irrevocable curse: and yet, none of that
was true, for to believe, was to die, before
she had lived and denial whispered, through
the curtained days, that a time would come,
when everything would change, and that
no pain would, or could, last forever.
It was in the nights of bright becoming,
that the child learned, there was more to
living, than believing, and sometimes,
it was only when she stopped the thoughts,
trampled belief into the dry, accepting sand,
that she could watch the image disappearing,
and in the trickled minutes, as the edges broke
and fell, hope, that there would come a time,
when it would all, finally, just end.