Renaissance: A Poem

**This is a featured poetry piece by Sophia Johnson-Grimes**

I feel a Renaissance

Beginning inside me.

My bitter bones filling

Creative juices spilling,

Staining.

 

The archdeacon cries and moans

“Heresy!” he calls

As I turn my back on the hallowed halls

And slam the wrought iron door

Behind me.

 

I accept the glory of the sun,

She welcomes me back with open arms

And the mountains weep with joy

At my return.

 

And I think back to the cold

Where doubt shadowed the day

And clarity was a relic of the past.

I hold these days in

the palm of my hand,

And they slip through my fingers

Like sand,

Like time.

And I hold them close.

And I let them fall.

 

The promised land waits for me;

My own apple tree,

My own basilica,

My own statue of David.

All within reach of my wine stained palms.

The road may not be smooth,

 But this time I am ready.