Exit Door Closed

Exit Door Closed




because the flame is still holy

but the moon’s cold cloak

has won.

Leaning into the crossing over,

sweet exhaustion, the love of

absolute rest.


Is this what the fish feels

after minutes on the hook, on the dock,

or the rat gasping in the trap,

lunging, flailing before finding

the peace of death?


Fear is not a name, keeps no company with surrender.

Holding the reset rose in my hand. I see colours

that please me, the brush stroke of renewal

and a house true to its inheritance.


Every hero eventually dies,

and their mourning is made

into a ritual.

Light of God, kinder than a mother’s wing,

richer than the formation of a new constellation.


My arms are enough,

even my meagre successes seem sufficient,

infused with Your light,

taking away the pressure of existence,

keeping pace with duties

and the honouring of dreams.



Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst




First published in “Synchronized Chaos” September 2020





You can listen to the poem by clicking below:


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