The Hours Just Now Ended

The day whose hours only a dream ago ended, Was a test to the grave some men commended, For seizing any opportunity to push and trip, Is what men do when they want you off their ship. The grave is a temptation for sure, but to endure By moving on, by vowing instead to live more pure, Far outshines the humiliating lights of evasiveness, Whose eyes fearing the look of so-called craziness, Would rather play it safe to make the world flatter. Flat-landers, fearing bumps too risky to matter, Huddling in groups with crossed fingers on backs, Searching the ground for tell-tale signs of cracks, Prefer cleaning their roads to clearing their minds, Daily management easier without certain kinds. The day whose hours a deep hurt now lets go, Was an exam whose answer I begin to know. The writing on the wall though merely commenced, Is the writing of a fall that will not be dispensed, For this refusal is more then a denial, But an affirmation of the life I love and smile.