But I was weary during the month of May.
And though the coming of summer
spread light by the promise of change,
Those dead flames contained
a harrowing quality. And the memory of thee
however far, still haunting.
So when I heard those four walls call,
almost deafening in their song:
grating upon my soul. I know
much of what I'd thought been freed,
was, in fact, still enclosed.
I wasn't afraid to face the old
I was afraid the old would resurface
within the new.