There is Sun
leaking in through drawn blinds
stinging the corner of my eye
and beckoning me to come past
my inhibitions.
There’s a drawing
of a tree
that I made when I was young,
it was my alma-mater,
my blood pact with reality.
I never faded,
I only grasped on to whatever gave life,
however temporary
and latched on
begging to make it to tomorrow.
Quivering in ice water
glacier fed,
mountain grown.
This projection of immovable will
breaking though the crust of the Earth
rising to the sky,
like a middle finger to the Almighty.
Or a wave,
or a warding hand
that says;
“I am buried too deep for grave robbers.”
Under the spine of the world.
the future waits,
like a great dragon.
-HG
