Broken Pavement

and a promise

The Dawn in Darkness, by an Unknown Artist.

This old house is crumbling.

Above, the sky is one giant bruise,
purple with yellow streaks, stagnant,
hanging over a broken pavement.
We walk about,
or rather, we stumble,
carrying the heavy cargo of unspoken truths;
the betrayals that bloomed like aconitum,
with slow poison, a quiet erosion of trust.

The air tastes of rusted iron,
and the portent of rain.
Nobody speaks.
The screens tell us the path is clear
while the ground beneath our feet
continues to give way.
A cold, sharp silence
struck across our cheeks,
feels less like peace
and more like holding our breath
before the coming fall.

Yet ....

In the abandoned alleyways,
away from ramshackle porches,
through the cracked pavement,
a single, defiant green shoot
pushes toward that emboldened bruise.
A stubborn ember,
unwilling to be ash.
Perhaps we are not the wreckage.
Perhaps we are the impending ashes,
waiting to be rearranged.

The dawn is not so gentle;
it is a brutal, blinding
thief of the darkness.
If we can survive the night,
we might just be able to find
the strength to build
a new house,
out of the ruins,
one without broken pavement,
and rotting porches.


©Thomas Crandall, 3 April, 2026

---

This was a challenge to write something about why confidence matters. Well, I am not feeling too confident these days. I still cling to a hope that it will get better—my inner confidence, or rather faith, embraces this possibility. A warning, however, I do not like masks, Guy Fawkes not withstanding, I prefer the honest face of confusion, anger and determination. I tire of cracked, plastic smiles on heaps of rotten flesh.