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Rite of Passage
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The power of you
in the grueling dark places
that demand your mastery.
Summer has left, but the sky
is still beautiful
emerging, gaining soft feathers.
The will to blow mighty at
the insects of anxiety, insects
building nests of dread
inside the pocket holes of
your once most-trusted security.
Relax in the wave that takes away your footing,
teaching you the ways of
sharks and minnows,
pulling you out into a place where
oxygen must be drawn in differently,
slicing smooth skin into gills,
salting your eyes, tastebuds and
all of you that previously glowed.
Treehouse by the fence
fall over and know it like
you can, either fly or swing
or place yourself, steeping slow,
renew yourself, know yourself capable
of maneuvering any journey.
Deciding is hard, you must shed your shell
of childhood, majestic and marvelous
as it was, keep the good
that formed, transforming as you bless it,
incorporate it, and then,
let go.
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Copyright © 2015 by Allison Grayhurst
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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Published in “Anti-Heroin Chic Magazine” February 2016
http://heroinchic.weebly.com/blog/three-poems-by-allison-grayhurst
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Click to access Make_the_Wind20160404Allison_Grayhurst.pdf
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http://scars.tv/cgi-bin/framesmain.pl?writers
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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
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“Grayhurst’s poetry is a translucent, ethereal dream in which words push through the fog, always searching, struggling, and reaching for the powerful soul at its heart. Her work is vibrant and shockingly original,” Beach Holme Publishers.
“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.
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