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.
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