By: Allison Grayhurst

the thinning years of a lifespan
roped by bitter nightfall

the volt of mourning that
mourns the range of ambition to success

the blind rodent that frees
itself of self-preservation

the hard days of unknowing that
last beyond the taking of bread

and the meadow that aches of
aloneness, aches to drive a soul inward.

This is not to suffer,

the long giving of love
that receives none in return.