I don’t know how to sing.

My legs have become old

and there are no more believers

around me.

Clasped in a never-opening lair

with active lava and no windows,

I cannot find the cave through the narrow incline,

trapped, submerged.

 

I cannot sing or breathe or be here

as I am broken down

bloodied and maimed.

I cannot continue to move,

pretend the feeling light is inside me

when it isn’t, when most days

I wish it was over and the throne of my failure

would burn with myself along with it.

 

Chaos, eroding sickness,

and the brutal cold reign supreme.

Everything I have done

is shattered in a pit

with no way to reassemble or resume.

 

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want the natural law

but only God’s mercy.

 

I cannot sing.

My memories are false, used-up

and dissipating.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2024 by Allison Grayhurst

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

 

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Read whole poem:

https://allisongrayhurst.com/my-mothers-sky/

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