All ends come to life in Spring
A long, perpetual shade came to cover the sky earlier this year
but as summer subsides, light again falls on the cliff,
and the sidewalk that runs along the edge, and on leaves.
The idea of a revisit comes to mind—my final ascent: the escape.
The cliff hadn't seen through much of its death toll as of recently either;
it was awfully alluring in its method of call.
And there, on to the side where the elevation incrementally increases,
some oligarch had built a church, striking at least a century old.
Their remnants had perished, just like their rule over this land.
As evening falls, monks would chant, and thank their impotent god,
unbeknownst to their deity or themselves, in the days following,
when a novena is held,
the cliff would see its name being rumoured,
and its sustenance in the ranks as one of the instigators of offense.
It was a long walk, stopping by every commendable view, trek, or mark,
gathering a last glimpse of that which wouldn’t lean over me
when I was made to stand under, and surrender to the sun—
I was leaving behind all that was undone,
and the courage to see through the act with not a single scream or flinch in the eyes,
but a devious laughter that echoes through the hills, and into the choir's conscious sense.
My act would then earn enough notoriety to become a revolt,
but it wasn't against the monks:
I had no feuds with people as fragile and benign as myself.
It was against their god, and faith they had to suspend
to call forth a novena when summer dies,
and every plant begins to shrivel unto death.
And for us who are the sentient ones, held by faith, not by duty,
responsibility, and proliferation of good will:
a sacrificial lamb is at last required, and for the purposes of salvation of order,
I shall suffice.
The cliff will put an end to my cowardice, and clear my debt—
and if it were the deity that I always worked against,
I would have another list of sins to repent.
"On the final day of novena, I will come down
with a new dagger—as wrath upon the heart of this trench
where the sublime resides, and bring chaos to this land.”
“Be certain to hold onto these corpses of fall, bring life into them, Spring.
Wait until the first downpour, and when you see leaves emerging on twigs again,
return to forever, and engulf me within your spirit. I'll be keenly waiting."