A grey mist

When faith wanes,
that the world is there.
When life threatens
to slip away within.

There is a crack
upon the ground, should
you ever fall - a split in
the fine veil of skin between
head, bone and brain.

We know these things
as facts, yet increasingly distant
seems reality, when we dare
not scream out, about life -
in our dreams.

It is a thundering, foul weather -
a cloud that reaching up, may
display it's dark underbelly,
boiling with rage and killing
the horizon.

There is no going back then,
across the bay. So we stumble,
run a little, work at it and whirl -
away an hour, an hour more.

Confronting the cloud -
is to see through it. To allow it
over and roll right under with
the understanding that life
is you standing, firm in it's

We were all given breath
by death's dark hold, over
the chances of every creature
that bore before, our genetic
imperative… to go on.

Our way, is life expressed
across eons of death - a dark canvas,
with an intensity of brightness that
shakes on eternity with such harsh
contrast, as to simply be.

A diamond sharp, swung blade,
blazing down through grey mists

a part of it - to break through
beyond undreaming, into life

for the living.

by Gareth Rosser