poetry

cloudy with a chance

The un-revelling of who we once-dancing-were...


              We live
      On sloped gravel,
  E’er-slipping
O’er tremulous ground;
        The past’s gavel is loud,
  Yes,
Though not as deafening
      As the unraveling of our youth,
Nor as redefining
          As the heartbreaking
    Unlevelling
  And unrest
Of our dreams quake-deferred,
        The un-revelling
  Of who we once-dancing-were,
That maturity-making spur
      Underfoot our future—
Our lone and unforecasted
          Achilles heel.
    Yet we sprinted spiritedly—
  I still do, almost suicidedly.
        If we must, decrepitly,
  Crawl to fly with me, love,
      To the now-tattered shrouds
Of streaking tear, forgotten fear,
            And finest meal,
      My courageously bent-winged dear:
  Let’s let them hear
        Our dangerously clear chorus—
    Thunderously—
          ‘Til we’re all but disappeared
  ‘Yond their grey
              And cynical clouds.


Previous Post:
    Poetry: Fickle Moon
        https://windstrewn.com/2021/01/19/fickle-moon/


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