With the purity of a single intention
Days of history voyage low
into nations, beside graveyards.
You played with the existential architects for a while,
breathing in their deconstruction, but your laughter
languished. Straddled between crossroads,
you could not form a picture.
Days of comfort can be understood
when the crack tents with severity enough
to slice two wholes.
In your mind there are mountains
you have lost the ambition to cross, or to look up
at their venerated summits, and listen.
You have lost the cunning to cope, continents of wayward
possibilities. Look up, for the sake of past miracles
that swooned into your embrace like found love
as a perfect match
against fatalism and rising futility. Look up – out
and grow yourself a fierce mystic midnight.
Whitewash trails and gardens, places
where children are allowed to dig a hole in the ground,
tunnels where the earth shines copper
with forgotten buried pennies.
Look up and drop the stone of objection,
the stretching sorrows of realism.
It is divine, if you choose it to be.
It is the freedom of a fugitive, freed
of the rusted bars, equipped with appetite
and the exuberance of a gamble.
The ship is lost and an ocean is gained.
Water and water rhythms
are teaming between your toes,
salting your hair and open wounds.
From side to side, look at the glorious space around you,
then up, envisioning yourself strong-winged, safe
as a seafaring bird.
.Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Contemporary Poetry-an Anthology of Present Day Best Poems (Volume 2)” September 2015
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,” Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.