The darkness crashed
on a sapling morality,
cracked pretensions and then hope.
It was two-fold, folding the
young visionary and the tired warrior –
into one power, depleted, elapsed.
It weakened a once flourishing joy, skillful
in its demise, necessary for what was
born after – compassion in harvest,
a home well built
on any hard or soft shore.
Raise the clock, break its hands,
snatch immortality from the arms
Tiny dreams are gold. Trust in those dream,
even more golden.
Fast, faster in the circle –
run of linear time, gleam fastest
at the summit
at the nadir,
and commit to only love.
Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Orange Blush Zine” September 2020
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: