Thomas

The Gift…

Not a flash car or a fancy home.

I give you recovery.
It is a seed encased in moist earth.

It promises hope,
like the delicate flutter of a butterfly.

Here.
It’s path will have you on the verge of despair,
like a forsaken beacon on a turbulent night.
It will make you crave the erroneous security of your vice,
solace in the intimate alliance once forged.

I am only being honest.

Not a false dream or fools gold.

I give you recovery.
It’s flickering flame will guide your way,
blazing and bright
as a phoenix,
rerisen from the smouldering ash.

Take it.
It’s a gift that cannot be given,
at most, inspired. 

Yours now.

A burden to carry, I truthfully know.

It’ll lighten, I’m sure as you strengthen and grow.

Like the stubborn clutches of darkness with the ensuing dawn.

Infectious.
It’s change will guide others,
lead them to life.