When glory days gave way to night
(a dark that crept without relief,
its fisted hand tucked out of sight
yet stealing joy, just like a thief)
I bravely tried to stand and fight
and rise above my grief.
I wore my ashen sackcloth cloak
that told false tales of blood and steel;
my words were blurred by tears and smoke,
so close to truth; yet not quite real,
and in between, a murky joke
to mask the bitter feel.
You bravely took the cloak from me,
and cast it boldly to the ground,
then bathed me in sweet honesty
and wrapped me in this silken gown.
You changed the course of history;
farewell to Golden Brown.
A line is drawn through yesteryear,
while shining brighter than the day
a promise dazzles out the fear,
and wipes the ghostly shame away.
Though still I shed a secret tear,
I know you’re home to stay.
The fire did not consume my heart,
but as I fought its searing rage,
it shaped my humble scribblers art —
so as I enter this new age,
a compass point would help me start
the story on this page.
©Jane Paterson Basil