Hours near the composers,
full nights healing through slumber.
The cavity within is like gasoline
spilled on water, expanding, making rainbow
Many times I thought I was free, but still
I was driven by obsession, metaphysical but
destructive, driven to explore that which cloaks
a form but never reveals a face.
Tempted, in an old land, wasting time. Because
my fountain has lost its theme,
it drips without flow, without gusto.
I allow myself to be extravagant
where I should be frugal, losing
my energy like blood into the tiger’s expanding jaws.
I allow myself to be reigned by addiction –
each hand moving the demon-stone, surging with
desperation, red and pulsing for relief.
Cold endurance. Cold hours in the morning when
I am left alone with myself, forced to discipline
this phantom monster. It is hard not to get absorbed
in its other-worldly folds. It is hard
to hold tight
to my personal religion.
Copyright © 2006 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Bewildering Stories”
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
“Allison Grayhurst intertwines a potent spirituality throughout her work so that each poem is not simply a statement or observation, but a revelation that demands the reader’s personal involvement. Grayhurst’s poetic genius is profound and evident. Her voice is uniquely authentic, undeniable in its dignified vulnerability as it is in its significance,” Kyp Harness, singer/songwriter, author.
“Allison Grayhurst’s poems are like cathedrals witnessing and articulating in unflinching graphic detail the gritty angst and grief of life, while taking it to rare clarity, calm and comfort. Grayhurst’s work is haunting, majestic and cleansing, often leaving one breathless in the wake of its intelligence, hope, faith and love amidst the muck of life. Many of Allison Grayhurst’s poems are simply masterpieces. Grayhurst’s poetry is a lighthouse of intelligent honour… indeed, intelligence rips through her work like white water,” Taylor Jane Green, Registered Spiritual Psychotherapist and author.