Gutters and Stars

The fall to the abyss is incendiary by design, Burning out and plummeting toward The bottom of a fjord or the shaft of a mine, To impale upon a metaphoric sword. The climbing from the dark is instinctive by default, Implanted in the root of human soul, With each progressive step to scrabble from the vault, Victorious emerging from the hole. Regeneration spreads it’s slowly beating wings To raise the heart and mind against the night, And even in the depths of all the blackest things Draws us once again into the light. Just as Oscar Wilde was clearly heard to utter In defiance of the fates and prison bars, I may have sometimes lain in a pretty dismal gutter But my eyes were always fixed upon the stars.