Crisis Forming

by on July 15, 2020 :: 0 comments

From the soft cushiony life
of pleasant thoughts and dreams,
of life laying out on a silver platter,
of riches settling in the palate
with its sweet breath
permeating the quiet air around,
unprepared for the danger lurking,
hearing its horns blasting,
feeling it digging into the skin,
it’s tentacles grabbing a hold and
taking us up to the graveyard
on top of the hill,
the home of all dreamers,
where all hopes are dashed
and “In Memory of the Fearful”
engraved on the tombstones,
is a place reserved for the
prey of the climbing crisis.

But climbers beware
for the leveling off of the climb
as the weary plague loses its grip
from its laborious ascension,
it’s feet swelling and muscles aching,
it’s evil still in its eyes,
but its influence lessened
as it nears the top
and gone away at the summit.

Alas, ’tis the sighting of the
other side of the hill,
the glorious meadows down below,
the smiling daffodils
and dancing streams,
the ride down a rejuvenation
of all hope, a new spirit in the soul,
a forever jubilation in the heart,
and the end of the course of the crisis.

editors note:

In the midst of the hijinx – hope. Hallelujah! – mh clay

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