Silent as a predator

on the far side of a hill

nearing, reality inches closer,

hungry and stealth.

       Days inside a half-grown dream

nurturing this ideal that is unable

to fully mature and tower.


This hallway fills with sludge,

that hallway with toxic fumes,

and another with mealy worms searching

for a host to infest and consume.


If I stand still none will take me

but movement happens without my accord,

time decides, aligns everything to its filthy trade.


I see with one eye – linear. I can hope but

my hope is made of straw. I can grow, but in

growing I condemn myself even more when again

I will be trapped and reduced.


I can burst through in my mind.

In my mind, I can leave these ruins,

take flight, take shelter,

wilt the taste of defeat,

cover the lamp and pretend I hear

soft chords, harmonies




Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst




Published in  “Communicators League” August 2022




Published in “Winamop” June 2022



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

3 responses to “Unharmed

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