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.