Sixty Years

Sixty years, sixty years, how long will that last?

The horizon of my future breaks so near,

and this curving path rolls so far past,

an eternity of time, a road paved with fear.

I march forward slowly, faking calm.

I try to touch the unknown and hug it tight

like a child reaching upwards in the night,

hoping to feel dark velvet on her palm;

and so of course, the disappointment stings.

I must keep marching anyway, dragged along,

by love and kindness, mother’s words, a lover’s song,

pulling gently like a puppet’s golden strings.

But sixty years, years without hope or guiding maps…

Will I make it all that way? Or will I just collapse?

It Follows

I sternly order it away.

“You are not welcome here.

No longer. You must leave.”

It seems to disappear,

but that is only to deceive.

Then it howls, loud and clear

and settled in to stay.

I pace from room to room,

to catch the moment just before

it finds my hiding-place

and squeezes through the door.

It settles in every space

every closet, every drawer

like dust settles in a tomb.

I walk away, it follows.

I try to burn it out of sight.

Neither the softest colored glows,

nor the harshest blinding white

can murder all the shadows;

so everywhere, in every light,

it finds the dark, and grows.

Heroes

Why do heroes leave their homes,

put down their pens, pick up their swords

and go to where the evil roams?

Do they chase justice or rewards?

When we seek the darkest places

and peer into the murkiest of pools,

are we really looking for beasts and ghouls,
or just our own reflected faces?

Rebirth

Photograph is "My Living Room" by alexiuss.

            People lived here, before the plague came.

            A fire burned beneath those bricks. The smell of fresh wood smoke mingled with the scents of simmering stews and baking breads. Where splintering debris lays now, children used to trip and fall gently on a soft carpet. A sturdy roof kept a family warm and dry.

            They said the plague was the great death, the death of all. But look what it left behind.

           

            Vines crawl up that chimney now. The green fragrances of moss and mushrooms and newly unfurled leaves waft through the house. Fresh saplings dig their roots in the dirt. Open beams welcome in the energy of sunlight and the nourishment of rain.

            There was no death here. Only change.