The Final Despair
Reaching the madness of failure
plugged like a mouth stuffed
with a sponge, unable to express
the agony experienced with a outward scream –
curved under pressure to turn in the direction back,
circular damnation. Gifts of grace,
pillaged and gone up in smoke.
A child’s every breath was my breath,
joy as yellow as the sun – years of happiness
that meant love was working, that the
mutilated and hanging seekers
had nothing up their sleeves to defeat such truth.
my heart is small, barely beating.
My horse is burning,
racing the fields.
My hopes are maimed,
crushed by senselessness,
helplessness and the feeling
that O – there must be switch,
if I could just find it and lift and set
things aright. But my prayers
billow into the air, head for the abyss.
I doubt everything and bottom out
in that emptiness, moving mechanical,
tethered to a trusted routine,
happy only in the peace
of a morning’s solitude.
Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “Creation and Criticism, Vol. 07” October 2022
First published in “Medusa’s Kitchen” July 2022
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: