Every Height I Fall
Must I be dark as the
vacant church at
night where many have
pleaded and died – bodies
in heavy caskets, silenced forevermore?
Must I be there, against the storm-cloud,
frightening the pretty blue-jay and the boy
in his rocking chair?
Must it always be the crushed beetle, the Earth
sick from human greed and the spinal joint maimed
from not enough love?
Up and down the pillar of eroded dreams
the years are thread strings lit afire by bickering
and cracked homes.
Must the TV be always turned on
and the soft features of grace
be trampled on in every
Copyright © 2004 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “In Between Hangovers”, April 2017
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
“Allison Grayhurst intertwines a potent spirituality throughout her work so that each…
View original post 134 more words