For today’s prompt, write an evening poem. A poem about or during the night. Or take evening a completely different direction and think of evening the score or making things more even (or fair or whatever). — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest
As the sun shone bright
I walked a labyrinth
even and slow
Projecting the journey of my bereavement
on my peregrination,
Here and there the path turning back upon itself
until at last I found its end
But, unicursal, it impelled me
to retrace my way
from that sacred space back into the world.
It set something loose within me
so at eventide
the tears and lamentations flowed
an outpouring of grief
And demonstrated to me
the journey may, yes, be slow —
but cannot be described as “even”.
Was my outburst
Or a breakthrough?