Tuesday, April 4, 2017


The fall from grace is long and slow
And leaves us time to ponder
What sordid fate awaits below
And all the while our fears may grow
Our feet are free to wander.

The call to arms is swift and proud
And leaves a wake of sorrow
As bloody hoof prints thunder loud
Beneath the angry sky, the cloud
Rains tears from heaven on their shroud.

The hands of time are swift and fleet
Decreasing with each hour
As brazen youth admits defeat
And age assumes its lofty seat
A throne of wisdom, bittersweet.

The night comes tumbling down to day
A sullen glow pervades the sky
The skin is touched by ashy grey
As soul and spirit fly away
Abandoning their husk of clay.

Alison Day