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.)
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