Into the Fray

I have withstood this austere year Waiting on skies which never clear Shadows away Fingers restless for an hour's peace Scrapes gold flakes from a drying crease of papier-mache Random resistance too refined Leisure, a luxury consigned To yesterday Now, tart impatience I require Passive manners swiftly expire Against delay In rushing tempo, I rejoice Straight-held shoulders, marching my voice Into the fray On stout cliffs, I refuse the same Meek rain, in favor of bold flame Where bright hopes lay. 7/31/20 For 'Tail Rhyme Stanza' contest Sponsor: Emile Pinet (a note on papier-mache: howmanysyllables has it as 3 syllables but in rhymezone.com it is listed under the four syllable words. I used the count from howmanysyllables.com, but to check it in rhymezone, it is under the four syllable count rhymes - just so there is no confusion.)