Where the dawn rises, where the crow flies...

The eventual beginning,
of a dawn in the making,
of faith, of hope, of beliefs,
twisting through the thousand slippery steps,
under the playful hand of God,
like the pieces on a chessboard, moving on and struggling on...

Till the eventual ending,
of an end in the end,
where the crow crows and flies,
an end to seeking of what to be seek,
an end where loss will always be a loss,
an end of pitch darkness, but the clock still ticks on...

At times,
when sorrow tunes in loud,
when the world bared its fangs,
or when reality strikes hard,
comes a wish of the piece of darkness,
a wish for an end to the seeking, an end to the dawn...