How do I receive a future,

inheritor of such

a dense darkness?

Healing is spared, the sunburn

grows into a rash and takes over

the possibility for stillness, sanity.

Everyday I am splintered, struggling

to conquer the dominant strain

lacerating my equilibrium with

its anarchy and drive.


I see the black hole conjunct

with the sun, transitions

that can transform any wound

into a terrifying progression.

I embody lethargy as the renouncer of hope

in the afternoons where there is nothing

to understand.


Fantasy is not a future, not

a worthy evaluation, though hypnotic

in its almost tangible relief.

It is not about an unfortunate circumstance,

but about the journey of my faith,

the validity of miracles

and God’s gracious love.


Sing me a future. Do I believe?

Do I step down from all insight

and fall into an agnostic stand-still?

Do I accept this nullifying reality,

impenetrable, embrace meaninglessness

and lose my final ground?




Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst


.Published in “Open Skies Poetry Anthology” August 2022

Open Skies Poetry Anthology



First published in “New Mystics” July 2022

New Mystics July 2022 AllisonGrayhurst-9Poems


You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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