Not the Hour

  
Torn by loyalties,

Devoured;

Surging gales

With raging power.

This is surely not the hour

For the rending,

Wounds re-opened.

Bleeding blistered words

As tokens.

Poisons deadly,

Sutures opened,

Draining pus 

And stagnant grievance,

Charged with cowardice

And treason.

Toxic,

Potent,

Petrified in distant moments.

Escaping from their gnarled grasp,

This lily has become an asp.

Breaking chains,

But few are chosen

To leave behind an aging storm,

To reawaken,

Dreams reborn.

It’s not for ashes 

We should mourn.