
ResolutionIf I were writing from the other side,Resolution by ~completeaccident
I would say
This road was not on my map.
No one goes there
on purpose.
And then tell you how
I escaped.
I asked for help, for change,
and grief was the answer:
Grief as old and hollow as snowfall,
grief as heavy
as snowfall,
grief that said, "You,
You are the spent ember,
You are the last angry voice
and when you pass
the dark
will have been waiting."
The grief was right. I burn,
I burn cold and heavy,
crouching in the ashes of greatness,
I burn,
and the fuel is low.
The dark is waiting.
But what angel comes
with words of despair? Even Job
had no angels to tell him, "Alas."
