To me the sound was pure as rain –
blending with tomorrow
and the empty figures pacing the hallway
as though separated from their own haunting.
It was the sound of sorrow,
merging the old with the future –
nothing in the palm, nothing shining into the day.
Waking like this – all possessions burned,
and then even further
released. Waking under the seat of the throne –
closer than I’ve ever been before.
I want your love. I want to taste that joy,
but joy is not meant to be today. Today
is a banquet of fake flowers – flawless, scentless,
dollar store gifts, strategically placed among
the dust and roaches.
I want your love to consume me, to let false love go
so that I know that love bound here is love
Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. She has over 450 poems published in international journals and anthologies. She has eleven published books of poetry and five collections, as well as six chapbooks and one e-chapbook. She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay. Visit her website: http://www.allisongrayhurst.com.